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The mariachi's song

The mariachi, like the movies, sings by the table: My love, if you give me your valour, if I dare to love you, my sun, I’ll idolize you. Ana plays with the wine glass between her fingers and seems to believe the lyrics. Love is only chemistry, she knows it. She promised time and time again not to get carried away by feelings, much less this one. My love. I’m going to dream about you with cherubs, with you I’m going to take a stroll through the clouds, with you I’m going to take a stroll in the clouds, with you I’m going to take a stroll in the clouds… She thinks that she has to tell him she loves him. That it’s stupid, but necessary. The wine, the mariachi, the song. She looks at him in the eyes and tells him. He liked hearing that. She has seen in his pupils that he has plans. She thinks she has made a mistake, one which won’t repeat itself. Find the original here .

Awaiting dawn

I impatiently await the dawn of the new day. My sleep-deprived eyes sweat dawn. Dawn and time. I await to see you. To trim your silhouette with eager hands, with thirsty kisses. Hours squander minutes on the clock in the back. The darkened room prays to you: Goddess of bedsheets and dreams. I await to break the silence of the days, the roughness of the nights without a soul’s warmth, the silence of unlived past hours. You arrive as dawn in a crude desert, desired and feared at the same time. Glorious. Dawn and fear. The bullet that is your name tears transparent ether. I call your name and you exist no more. I despair. The moon drowns in the sunrise's lights. The silent night flowers come back alive, and my await stretches, malleable and soundless. You arrive but escape. Immaterial presence, you avenge Didon’s offense in my chest. Dawn and time. Find the original here .

Uncertainty

He was crouching in the dark corner, like he did so many times before. Meanwhile, the kid clumsily counted to ten. As always, he skipped the two again. Jaime had a hankering for that number, he used to forget it. – … Ten! Dad, ready or not here I come! The pain in his arm intensified. He noticed it was his heart and thought of coming out from his hiding spot. But he thought again, Jaime wouldn’t take too much time to find him anyway. Find the original here .

A piece of the sea

He took his business card out of his pocket. He scribbled on it with a pulse that once was firm the phone number and he gave it to the young woman. He left after that. She didn’t know whether to laugh at that poor man, or if to feel proud of the enormous power her beauty held. She thought of throwing away the card, but ultimately decided to put it in her tiny handbag. Two days later, she called him. He was old, but right before giving her his card he had said to her “I thought to see a piece of the sea in your eyes”. Find the original here .

On his shoulders

For entire ages was Atlas bearing all the weight of the world on his back. Never in that eternity had Atlas complained: the titans are something else after all. However, for an instant that might as well have been endless, Atlas wavered. He felt as old and tired as a titan can feel. And he decided to let go of the blue planet’s burden. There was not a single disaster, not even one. The Earth kept on being where it must. In an invisible, impossible balance, the planet swayed in the gravity currents while keeping its distance with all the other celestial bodies. And that’s how Physics and the rest of the laws of men killed one by one all the gods from Olympus. Find the original here .

Odysseus

He thought about giving up from time to time, about abandoning the journey. He was old and tired, oh so tired. Each and every one of his bones carried the weight of ten years of war and another bunch of sailing at the gods’ whim. He imagined himself abandoning himself on a beach, changing his name, pretending to be blind and dedicating his last years to weave verses that would tell his story. Find the original here .

Non-stop

Any day now he’ll do it, I’m sure of it. He’ll wake up like always, he’ll get dressed, have that horrible coffee in that horrible bar, sit at his workplace and listen to everything he doesn’t care about: how smart one’s sons are, how big another’s bed is and how sad is the life of the guy from the table at the end of the office; after that, he’ll balance budgets, prepare payrolls infinitely higher than his own, try to take a deep breath and realize that inside there it is impossible to get another gulp of air; he’ll look at the door and he’ll bite his lip anxiously, get up and walk slowly to the exit and he’ll find the way there endless, but he’ll get out, get out to the street and feel renovated, clean, complete, he’ll start then to roam aimlessly, without any hurry, and each step will be a new and exciting decision. Find the original here .

The rage

He hated all of them. Without a reason, or with all the reason in the world. He didn’t see people, only abhorrent monsters that stalked him. To kill or be killed: that was everything. And, because of that, time and time again, he shot, reloaded, shot… The magazines fell swiftly to the ground. He saw himself as a videogame character: absolutely immortal, capable of advancing through a plethora of enemies and restarting at any given moment. He heard a voice that said: “They’re civilians, stop it already. Don’t keep going”. But the noise from the gunshots and the gunpowder smell blinded him. He could only stop when a sharp pain on the back left him unable to move. – I’m sorry private, I had to do it. They were innocent. – Nobody is innocent. – Then, he stopped thinking. Find the original here .

The thread

Once upon a time, in a kingdom very far away and so small that it didn’t even appear in the biggest of maps, there was a seamstress who was able to weave people’s dreams. With her wooden spinner and an extremely thin thread made out of the same matter from the elusive hopes of men, she weaved tirelessly night and day a canvas inhabited by chimeras, dragons, unicorns, giants, successes, reciprocated loves and secret wishes. The seamstress had been weaving for ages with the endless and monotonous sound from the spinner’s friction as her only companion. However, one day, in an unexpected impulse, she cut off the thread. And even the most powerful of men felt something inside him had turned gray forever more. Find the original here .