The beach

   Turtles moved slowly, from one end of the beach to the other. Their bodies were partly covered in white sand, as they moved through the wet area, as it had been washed by the sea for centuries or maybe more. It was a secluded beach, away from any urban settlement and disconnected from the world. There were no paths that led to the beach, as it bordered a large area filled with sharp stones that made it dangerous for people or even vehicles to cross the area. Only crabs and birds could overcome that obstacle.

 As for the ocean, the sea was extremely dangerous close to the shore. It seemed to be as peaceful as in other areas, but it could be able to swallow any ships that came too close to the beach. And as for swimmers, many had drowned trying to reach the precious strip of sand. Many had tried to do so in order to get to the turtles and the large crab colony that lived in the jagged rocks. They could become a great source of food for so many people that had sometimes nothing to eat.

 The region was composed of the same secluded beaches and areas where people could go and try to hunt for food. They were supposedly modern times but the government had no intention of sending food to those people or to help them do something to stop depending ravaging the natural areas they had close at hand. Actually, the whole area was a natural reserve, but those people were considered indigenous to the area, so they had every right to enter the reserve and grab whatever they wanted, including animals to eat.

 This right had been given because of their alleged traditions, which were mostly made up by people that did not really know the history of the area, and because of their small numbers and importance for the international community, which was dedicated to protecting all the native peoples of the world and the natural areas. So it was obviously a problem when they had to protect both things in the same place. One of the two was going to be in a disadvantage and, in this case, the natural reserve had everything to loose.

 It all became a lot worse when a horrible series of storm hit the coastal areas. The huts and homes of the local population were almost completely destroyed. Their access to drinkable water became non-existent and the small amount of food they had access to was also taken from them by the storm. So they grabbed the boats that hadn’t been destroyed and sailed to grab every single animal they could on the protected beaches. None of them doubted their actions for a second, as they captured crabs, turtles, fish and even smaller animals that they normally never ate.

 The government would take some time to get there, that’s if they ever came to see what had happened after the storms. So no one among those people was really worried about consequences. The problem came when several of them tried to sail to the inaccessible beach. They all sailed against the wind and the enraged ocean in order to plunder the richest part of the whole reserve. It could be assumed that many animals had realized that area was better for them; so many creatures had started calling it home.

 Most of the boats were destroyed in a matter of minutes. Not only the waves swallowed them whole, but whirlpools that formed when the ocean was especially calm also killed some of the men. However, a handful of them were able to cross the natural harshness of the ocean and landed on the beach. They started destroying it almost instantly. The blood of the turtles tainted the ocean in minutes and bags filled with crabs were carried to the remaining boats and to a makeshift chariot made with the rests of the shipwrecked boats.

 When they ended their destruction, just a few hours before sunset, only death remained on the beach. The remains of several animals rested there, even some creatures had been left there whole, not even taken partly by the men and women. They had been killed only because they were there and not because those people were hungry. It was just their thirst for destruction, which had led them to turn the most vibrant beach of the whole coats into a devastated piece of land, deprived of any kind of life.

  Leaving the beach was easier than entering it. The invaders soon discovered that with their boats and with the chariot that they had created. Soon, they arrived with the food to their homes and they only left some of it to be kept in an underground storage area. The rest was consumed in a few hours by men, women and children. They made large pots of turtle soup and ate the crab raw. They also cooked the other animals caught, including fish, monkeys, small mammals, insects and some other crustaceans found in shallow water.

 The people of the coast slept well that night. There was no sign of remorse; no sign that they regretted destroying a place they had claimed had been protected by their ancestors for ages. Some of them were not really indigenous, having their true origins in the cities beyond the reserve and the coast. They had come to that area to extract many of the valuable minerals that were hidden beneath the hills and close to the ocean. Eventually, after they hadn’t found much to make themselves rich with, they started relationships with indigenous peoples and formed the communities later protected in the coast.

 More storms ravaged the area, killing many animals but also a great part of the villagers that had destroyed the secluded beach. They were a series of hurricanes, that pulled trees from the roots, send rocks flying all over and destroyed every single thing that resembled a house in that region. After a few months, when the storm season finally ended, the government sent planes and boats to check on the area, as international pressure to protect those areas was getting more and more powerful after the storms arrived in the news.

 The first images that the world saw were the ones with the remaining villagers deprived of sweet water, places to sleep and live and food. They claimed they hadn’t eaten in a long time and that they had survived on coconuts and a few fish that came close to their coast. People all over the country donated to them, money and food that were carried by special places to their communities. The international community was proud to help to and the images went all over the globe, showing how people were still compassionate.

 However, the news cycles were rocked when a scientist found out, using satellite imagery, that the most well preserved beach of the reserve had been left completely lifeless. The carcasses of the turtles were still there, kind of covered by the sands. Helicopters were sent there when the images were made available and the government realized they had been taken for a ride. Actually, every single person involved with “saving” the communities close and inside the reserve had been completely lied to.

 The reserve soon had to be stripped from its status and the communities, or what was left of them, were left to mend for themselves. The area soon enough died away, its people and its animals too. And only storms were left to ravage the coasts mercilessly.

I shouldn't care but I do

   When I woke up, the world was still blue. I had slept for only a few hours, which was very impressive because I had been drinking a lot the night before. However, I didn’t drink nearly enough to forget about the person that I was sharing the bed with. He was sleeping on his side, his face towards mine, gently breathing with his mouth slightly opened. I wanted to reach for his face and just caress it for a moment, but I realized it was still too early in the morning and it would be cruel to wake him up.

 I decided to only stare at him. I wanted to detail every single feature of his face and try to remember it for a long time. I was the kind of guy to have casual sex pretty often but they would normally leave after we had finished. Our connection to one another was always physical and, when all was done, they knew they had to leave without much fuss. That was the first time I shared my bed in a very long time and it was also the first time in a while that I could actually say that I really liked the person I spent the night with.

 Of course, we had sex. But it wasn’t the kind of passionate and rough sex that I would have with just about any other man. It had been special in a way, for him and for me, I’m sure of that. The way he handled his body and the sounds that came out of his body, as well as what he caused in me, all of it told me that it wasn’t just another crazy Friday night. It was something more and I really wanted to know why or how, because it wasn’t still completely clear. Maybe that was because it was so early.

 My head wasn’t buzzing or hurting, I could handle my liquor. Maybe he was a little bit on the weaker side, which I found to be adorable. Then, he said something in his sleep and the moved slightly, but remained facing me. He was really beautiful. Or maybe he wasn’t and I was just imagining him to be even more beautiful than he really was. Maybe I was idealizing the moment and everything was just as usual. Maybe the real problem was that I was feeling alone and empty, and casual sex had run its course.

 I had thought of that many times and it always hunted me how things change from one moment to the next. I mean, I love the way I behave and I do things because I like them. I don’t feel any pressure to settle down or to go out and find someone to fuck with. Not at all. I just feel this freedom inside me that lets me do anything that I want, wether it is being with that beautiful man in bed or working out or eating breakfast. The thought of breakfast though, made my stomach growl. It was very early but I really wanted something to eat. So I carefully got up and went out the room.

 It almost made me laugh how much shit there was around the apartment. There was a pizza box with two very cold slices just resting there. A group of people had come to have a nice evening of talking and games, so we had ordered some food after drinking several bottles of alcohol. I remembered how some were carrying others out the door, how I received messages of “I got home” while I was making my new friend moan in my room. It’s funny how life takes in one place and puts thing in the other.

 The fridge was almost empty as it was one of those weekends I had to go to the supermarket. Luckily, there was still some orange juice left because some friends had ordered two bottles of it to mix with vodka. That made me do a funny face, there by myself, reminding me of how much alcohol I had drank. I poured some juice on a clean glass and then grabbed some bread from the cupboard. As I was looking for the toaster, a sleepy voice greeted me and that made me smile from ear to ear.

 He was there, wearing my Avengers t-shirt. I had worn it the night before and then it had been thrown to the floor when we started kissing. Apparently, he was too shy to come out of the bedroom fully naked. He had also put on his underwear, some lovely red briefs. I put the toaster on the counter and greeted him, smiling. I then realized that I was naked, with nothing on at all, and that I was also probably sporting some crazy hair and bad breath. Thinking about that got me paralysed. His smile made me forget all about it in seconds.

 We had toast with strawberry jam for breakfast and we shared the glass of orange juice because all the others had to be clean. His skin was a bit pale, which I imagined was all about the drinking. I asked if he had slept well, and he nodded. He said I was very warm all night, so that helped him sleep better. It was so strange, to talk to him as if he was some unknown person that had just walked in. True, we had only met a couple of times, but we were past conversations as polite as the one we were having by the counter.

 So I just went and asked him if he had something to do that morning. He told me he never woke up so early and that he would only go out of his house in the afternoon, to have something to eat. So he was free until then. I asked about his parents, as he lived with them, and he assured me they weren’t the kind to worry too much. Actually, they never seemed to worry or ask any explanations from him. I found that to be really strange but left it there, because I know how awkward it feels when some person just drills you about your personal life. It’s just one of those things you shouldn’t do.

 In order to continue the conversation and not have some weird moment of silence, I told him I usually went out on Saturday mornings to the supermarket, as it was one of the moments of the week when my nearest grocery store would be almost empty, deprived of any crying children or annoying people trying to find products they would never buy. He laughed at that and I smiled because his laugh was just perfect. I realized then that maybe I was idealizing him but I decided I did not care, for once.

 Normally, I’m not the most romantic man ever.  But right then and there, I decided to go around the counter and just seat besides him and look at him as I did when we were in bed. He clearly thought that was a bit odd, but he stood still and just finished eating. When he did, I took his hand and just caressed it for a while. Then, I stood up from my seat, and walked slowly towards the bathroom, still grabbing his hand. He came gently and it was him who closed the door. We kissed the moment he did that.

 We made love again in the shower and then again in the bedroom, after we had cleaned ourselves thoroughly. I thought he was going to leave then but he decided to come with me to the supermarket. We spent the whole morning together and then we parted ways after he helped me get everything in order in my house. He left with a kiss on the lips and a smile. He hasn’t been back since then. It has only been a few days but I already miss him. Am I too sensitive or something? Should I just not get attached?

No. Again, I cannot care too much. It’s dangerous.

After all, we are in love

   The first thing I did, was giving him the biggest hug I could. It was amazing how I could feel his sweater against my face, how I could feel his warmth through the fabric and hear his heart beating beneath it. It was so real I cried, both in the dream and outside of it. I don’t remember how long we stood there, but I do remember I started seeing him in other places in my dreams, just running into him casually while he was saying something nice about me or about what he felt for me. I was over the moon.

 Actually, the full moon loomed above us for most of the dream; it was quite a beautiful sight. It was also nice to be able to touch his hand and hold it out in the open, in front of all the people in campus. Or at least I think it was a campus, it didn’t look anything like the college I had been to years before. It was bigger and with more faces and nice walkways lined with trees. And we would hold hands and just talk about movies and laugh about silly gossips that we had heard about people we knew.

 I have to say that, even then, I knew he wasn’t real. I knew that I was dreaming but it all felt so real that I didn’t mind. I knew what my real life was like and I wanted to have something different for a change and it didn’t mattered if it could only be in a dream. That’s why I tried to remember every single thing, repeating in my head as I went through it, because I wanted to remember every single part of that beautiful dream. I want to memorize his face, because somehow he was more than real to me.

 We even made love and he whispered in my ear how much he wanted to make me feel pleasure. I know, maybe that’s too graphic for some or to little information for others, but I have to say that also felt amazing. I could almost say that I was moaning loudly in my room, in bed, while we were having sex in the dream. We kissed a lot and he really seemed to care for me while we were together. I think that’s what everyone one’s in a partner, someone that really cares for you and who’s not there just to be there.

 Afterwards, we lay there talking a bit. We were tired and sweaty, but we couldn’t prevent our faces from grinning and smiling. We were too happy not to express it with our souls. I remember touching his face, feeling his stubble. He kissed my hand and then hugged me and I felt I could drown in his smell. I still have in my head, and I hope it never goes away. He kissed me like no one has kissed me before and, I have to admit, that maybe no one will ever kiss like that. After all, I lived that vivid dream in a moment but that’s all it was, it was just a dream, as unique as it was.

 When I woke up, I felt really good. I was smiling and I didn’t feel tired or worn down. It was quite the opposite and it has to be said that’s not very common. I usually feel I have just arrived from running a marathon. But not that time. I knew the alarm would go off in any minute, but that wasn’t important. My brain and even my body were still with him, feeling his body against mine and every single feeling he felt towards me rushing between both our beings. No idea if that makes sense at all.

 As I was in the shower and putting on my clothes, I thought of everything I had dreamt of. Some of it was already gone, something that was bound to happen. But most of it was there, for me to think about it over and over again. As I prepared to leave home for work, I realized how silly I would sound to anyone if I told them I had fallen in love with an imaginary person, with someone that only existed in my dreams. They would think that I was going insane or something worse.

 Then again, maybe I am. Maybe it is insane to think that a person that you own mind created is simply not healthy. Even I can say that it sounds crazy but I cannot stop thinking about him and about how he made me feel. In the bus, standing up facing the window and looking at cars and buildings pass, I realize that I don’t really care about what people think or not. He made me happy and it doesn’t matter where it happened or if he was just my mind creating him to make me feel less lonely.

 I couldn’t afford not to care, not to recognize he had been there. After all, I actually thought, for a moment, that maybe my head had not created everything about him. Maybe humans are connected in ways we do not yet understand and we were connected during that time. Maybe he exists, somewhere, and maybe he’s also asking the universe what this all means. I know how all of this sounds but sometimes you just have to believe in something to keep going, in order not to crumble and just give up.

 And I have to believe the love of my life is out there somewhere and that he’s thinking of me too. I would love to know if the face I saw in my dream is the same as the one in reality, but he will surely be thinking the same thing. I’ve found myself hoping he’s not very disappointed, because I’m not exactly a top model or anything like that. But maybe worrying about such a thing is just stupid, because he probably worries too about what he looks like. If he just knew I would love give him a hug and just feel him close to me, maybe that would make his worries disappear.

 Meanwhile, real life is going on as usual. I go to work and I go back home, I sometimes cook and write and do things to pass the time. But every now and then I find myself thinking about him. However, after a while, I just think about how lonely I feel and how nice it would be to have someone close to tell him all my worries and my problems and to laugh and be idiots at the same time. I sometimes think about that and it makes me sad because and over thirty and that hasn’t happened yet.

 I’m the first one to say age doesn’t mean shit but the older you are whenever you finally get to meet that wonderful person, the less time you will have with them. And that scares me a lot, because I want more than a few good years with someone. Shit! After so many years of avoiding any kind of emotional attachment to others, I find myself in a position in which I would be ecstatic if I could feel something for someone else. It would be hard and strange and new, but it could be worth the shot.

 But life doesn’t work by wishing, or I would have met him several years ago, when I was more of an innocent kid that ever before or after. I was someone else and that guy really believed in possibilities. Me, not so much. I know that the dream is just a dream and that, even if there’s a possibility he could be real, that doesn’t mean everything would just work according to my imagination or some kind of plan. You don’t plan life because she will never let you. She’s tougher than that, always.

 Anyways, I want to keep dreaming about him. He made me happy, he made me smile. No one achieved that in a while and I want that here, with me. I know how it sounds and how it looks, but I’m the kind of tired that has to use his imagination to go forward. Reality is not the kindest to me, although it could always be worse. That’s why I dream of him, because even if things really go south, I would have someone nearby to really live with, in every single of the word. And that word means hell of a lot.

 My only hope now is that, somehow, I can see him again in my dreams. I feel like I’ve done that before so, maybe, it could happen again. Maybe this time we could go out dancing or singing before going to his place and have sex. Because that’s something I’m not willing to give up.

 I go to bed tonight thinking… No, I go to bed wishing I will see him again. And then I shed a tear and realize how silly, childish and stupid this is. But I don’t have anything else to hold on to. Real or not, I really need him right now and I just know he will come. After all, we are in love.

My truth

   The moment I came out from the interview, I took out one my cigarettes and lit it up right there, in front of the office building. There was no one there doing the same thing, so of course people looked at me as if I was the strangest thing they had ever done, almost as if they had never even seen a human smoking in their lives. Maybe it was my clothes or the way I was standing up or maybe the fact that it was obvious I didn’t belong there. Maybe they were very good at looking through people and knowing their truth.

 I didn’t stay long to figure it out. With my cig on my mouth, I walked towards the bus stop. I didn’t really want to go back home so soon, so I wasn’t precisely running to grab the bus. I stood a bit far from the bus stop in order to finish the cigarette, as I thought of the questions they had asked me and the answers I had given. My truth right then and there was that I wanted to scream, to run away and just put my head inside a hole in the ground. I was frustrated and tired and just fed up with everything around me.

 My bus came in too fast, so I had to put off my cigarette. Luckily, the bus was not as filled up as it could have been. I was a bit pissed off that I had to pay for it, only because I knew going to that stupid interview had been a waste of time. The same thing had happened that year, once and again and again and again. Sometimes it was in places close to my home but I mostly had to travel by bus in order to just feel like an imbecile once I got to the actual interview. I had to sit there and pretend I knew shit about shit.

 Somehow, I had learned to pretend and lie in many parts of my life, but never in situations like interviews. Actually, more than not knowing how to do it, I think it was something related to not having the same mindset than the people doing the interview. I knew I wasn’t one of them. And I don’t mean it like saying I’m better or something like that. I’m certainly not better. But the point is we weren’t understanding each other because we were two very different types of people who could never connect at any level.

 That happened to me in every interview, from the moment I came out of college until today, six years later. Six years and I have never had a steady job because people won’t hire me. Maybe it’s lack of enthusiasm or maybe it’s just that I don’t have any skills or knowledge that can be applied in a “useful” job. And I live in a country were jobs are a precious thing, not really offered in every corner. And yet, some people get them and stay in them for several years or maybe all of their lives. And here I am, over thirty now, jobless and still wondering if I will ever be able to live by myself.

 As I step down the bus, a couple of blocks away from my house, I decide to take my ass to the nearest park. I have no need to hear my mother’s questions about the interview or feel how my dad looks at me knowing that I’m a complete and utter failure. No, I need to mix it up a little bit and maybe the park has exactly what I need. If I was a pothead, I would consider smoking there for a while but I cannot even have an interesting hobby like that one. I’m very boring and just sit there by myself.

 There are many guys walking dogs and old ladies also doing the same thing. I get obsessed for a while with people picking up their dogs businesses. Then, I remember why I’m there and my world just crumbles again. I feel the need to cry but I really don’t want to. I’m tired of having done that so many times in the past. It’s like I’m dried up, just too damn tired to shed one more tear into this ungrateful fucking world. I’d rather just stay put and think about something else, escape from everything once again.

 Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Why doesn’t that faggot just commit to something and start changing his ways? Why doesn’t he just become whatever it is that people are looking for in a worker? I mean, that’s what people do: they pretend to be this superhuman in order to be considered for anything from a job to a damn relationship. Fuck, even people that want to fuck each other lie about many things in order to get laid. So what’s up with this guy? Why doesn’t he just do what everybody else does and shut up?

 Well, I can’t. I physically can’t. I cannot pretend forever, I cannot work in something I despise or don’t even have an interest in. Of course I don’t have that luxury, to like what I work in. I don’t and I know that. But even in that case I just feel like I have no other option but being this sack of gas and shit that biology turned me into. I cannot just acquire all of those things that people have because it’s a case of you have it or you don’t. At least it is for me, from my point of view.

 Of course, you people are just thinking: “Who the fuck does this guy think he is? Why doesn’t he just do something, like all the rest of us do?” And the real answer to that is that I don’t have a fucking clue why I don’t do that, why I don’t just turn into someone else and become this being that everyone wants to be connected with. But I can’t. I have failed as a human male, I know that. And I’m trying to reconcile with that in a world that doesn’t give a fuck about individuals, where the group is always much more important than anything you might be feeling in your little weak head.

 When I realize it, it’s almost completely dark. The lamps on the park illuminate everything in the creepiest way and it does remind me that this city is filled with rapists, murderers, robbers and, the worst part, stupid fuckers. So I stand up and walk a few blocks towards home. I prepare in my mind phrases to tell my mother and my father. As I enter the building and press the elevator button, the sense of dread enters my soul once again. I feel awful, like crying once again, but I just don’t do it. What good will that make?

 I enter home and, as predicted, she asks me about how it went and my father looks at me over his glasses. I just say whatever thing it was that I prepared and then excuse myself because I really want to pee. And it’s true, but I also want to run away from there because I have no need to watch them look at me. I feel parents can really see through their children, even if they decide to buy the lies you tell them as their sons and daughters. Parents always know, in one way or the other, and that has always scared me.

 I enter the bathroom, close the door and pull out my penis. As I pee, I look myself at the mirror and see someone I don’t completely like. It’s not only his looks that I have always hated, but also the fact that he cannot be the person that everyone wants him to me, that he needs to be in order to survive this motherfucking world. Look at him, staring back at me with those depressing little eyes and that fucking brain that’s only filled with garbage. I can say I sometimes despise him to death.

 And his looks. He cannot even get anyone to fuck him and there is no doubt why. Never mind the tiny dick, just look at his face. He looks sick and oily, just disgusting. He finishes peeing, washes his hands in seconds and leaves. I enter my room and just fall on my bed. Again, I want to cry and scream and yell and hit and kick. But I can’t. I know nothing of the sorts will help me be whoever it is I’m supposed to be. It just won’t and I don’t know what to do next, when to just quit for good. It seems like the obvious choice.

 How many times can I stand being rejected for a job interview? For how long can I wait until I understand that no one will ever hire me to do anything? Am I resistant enough to last like this forever? Should I even keep doing that now, that I know the reality of who I am and my possibilities?

 I fall asleep and wake up in the middle of night. My mother apparently understood it all, because she didn’t wake me up or nothing. It’s four in the morning and my thoughts race through my head. I’m trying to stay in control, but sometimes it is taken from you and there’s nothing you can do about it.