No more than 15

He walked through the rickety room; slowly, lighting his way with a flashlight of which the batteries were about to die. The wooden floor creaked with every step, despite his efforts to be completely silent, and he could feel the grim air finding its way to the room through the glassless windows. He had been moving around the abandoned village for hours. Even though he knew about the traps and the lurking enemies, he still wanted to go there. He needed to test himself. His palms were sweating and his heart was about to melt from the effort. And, to top it off, he needed new batteries to maintain at least a cone of light in the middle of that almost absolute darkness. A creak behind him made him look back. He unloaded the magazine. The blood splat everywhere, but it was his. A second enemy was hiding behind the first and slashed his stomach open with their claws. He had only one option left. If he didn’t do that he would be dead and none of the suffering up to this point would matter. H...

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 .

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 .

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 .

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 .

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 .

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 .

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 .

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 .

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 .

I don’t know where I’ve placed it and I’ve been looking for it for a while: It’s not in the closet, nor the key drawer and neither in the living room’s cabinet. So I’m going to do what my grandmother taught me, tie a knot in a handkerchief and wait for it to appear somewhere. It’s kind of funny, sometimes it happens like with my glasses: I search everywhere for them and then it turns out I’m actually wearing them… Where have I placed my soul, that doesn’t appear anywhere? Find the original here .

This is the last time that we see each other. I cannot keep this up. I don’t have the strength nor the will to do so. And, what’s worse, I don’t have any ideals left for which to keep on fighting. It has been a tough and long journey, in which I’ve learnt to lie, lurk and distrust what my friends say. It didn’t go bad for me, I can’t complain and you know well the amount of hours and nightstands I’ve dedicated to this, till the point of losing my family on the way. We could say that the townsfolk appreciate me a little, or at least they don’t hate me. And there they will stay for posterity, the pavilion, the plaza and the new districts. Goodbye, my dear office. Find the original here .

Was it looking at him? Yes, it was. He couldn’t tell for sure if it was a man or a God. He had been looking for a while at those beings that got off a giant canoe, much taller and longer than what any tree or animal pelt he knew could turn into. At first they seemed like men to him, but then, some of them put on some clothes that shined when exposed to the sun and they got on top of some unknown four-legged tall creatures. There was no doubt, they were gods. He started going closer to them bit by bit, and when he had made sure the being in shiny attire had seen him, he stood up and went running towards him to kneel before him. However, before he reached him, the God pointed towards him with a cane from which a mighty roar came out. He fell to the ground lamenting that his death was so sudden, leaving him no time to give his people such great news. Find the original here .

Was it looking at him? Yes, it was. He couldn’t tell for sure if it was a man or a beast. Not too long ago he had noticed its presence, but he didn’t want to do anything until he was certain. If it was an animal, they could hunt it for food, some fresh meat after months full of salt-cured foods that made us want to puke. But it looked like a man. A weirdly dressed one, a feral without a doubt and, therefore, dangerous. The feral, finally, came out of its refuge slowly and still crouching. Then he could see it clearly. He carried something that looked similar to a spear and also a kind of club. He stood up and started coming closer while shaking the club. “I’ll finally be able to shoot again”, he thought. He loaded his musket, aimed and fired. Find the original here .

We know some beings are extraordinary from the right moment of their birth. Eladio Romera is one of them. When he was born, August the 15th, 1968; his arrival to this world came with a horrible downpour that meant the end of the harshest drought in 50 years. Nobody thought too much into it. He wasn’t aware of his gift either until way into his puberty. It was the day he had his heart broken for the first time ever. It was the 13th of February, and while she told him she was in love with another person, the sky began closing in. And, while he was going back home, crying, a soft and consoling rain kept him company on the way. (I believe this is the start of a novel). Find the original here .

The shock from the orgasm was still running through his spine by the time he was already daydreaming about escaping again: an island, light, a peaceful climate and strolls on the seaside. He didn’t care for the company. He needed tranquility. She thought that she had never been treated like that before. That never before had she felt as intensely as in the past two scarce hours. But the guilt suddenly overcame her. She should not be there, but at home with her daughter and husband. She belonged there, she was in love and this was nothing but sex, cold and dirty sex. She got up and hastingly entered the bathroom to close the door from inside and to avoid him coming in after her and having her weakness repeat itself again in the bathtub. In the meantime, he waited lying on the bed, with a practiced posture, until she left him the money at the end of the bed and escaped. Then he counted the bills and thought: Just a bit more… Find the original here .

“Green, deep, eternal. His eyes were like that”, she thought, “sometimes even yellow”. She looked at the empty chair and reminisced about his glare. The copper curls, which at times clouded his eyes. He had gone and she hadn’t had the guts, the valour to tell him. She could feel her tears coming out, half because of rage and half of sorrow. She knew she was a coward, she had always been one. This time, she almost was brave. It was the day he announced his leave from the company. Her mouth said “I wish you well”, but her soul screamed “Don’t go, I love you”. Find the original here .

Ari heard the voice of the woman who warned her fellow citizens from danger. The heat, posture and those words almost made her lose consciousness. She almost shouted and started an attack right in that instant. But she composed herself, she was made composed. Outside, the singing and cheers were drowning out the sound of the woman’s warnings. And then, they felt the heavy movement of the figure. He was the first one to come out, the Troyans barely realised what was happening. They fell one after another to the vanguard’s advance. In a few hours the Achaea fleet would have traced back their steps and the city would without a doubt fall to their hands. Finally: a fabulous bounty, becoming a part of history as great heroes. Although, in that moment, the only thing in her mind was finding and killing that woman. The woman who awakened fear in her. Find the original here .

He was there with him. Just the two of them. And also with him, between them, was all of his pride. That’s why he hated him above everything else: because of that unnerving way of being, so perfect, so loved by his parents, so understanding of others. And so they were far from home, in that tiny altar he put so much time into. And a few steps away, there was a jawbone from a donkey or maybe a cow. Anyone would say that he didn’t think about it, that it was a moment of madness, but it wouldn’t be true. He went through that scene in his mind hundreds of times before, enjoying each and every detail of it, doing that murderous gesture again and again. And yet, when he turned into reality what was only allowed in his imagination, something didn’t go as it did in his dreams: the stupid and forgiving look of his brother, as if he understood the motive behind the agonising eyes of his sibling. Find the original here .

Things, some things, inhabit a space before disappearing forever, almost always engulfed in shadows. A space in which things cram up together and try to hide from sight as if they knew it is the last stage of life, getting mixed with cobwebs or taking the shape of a curious shade. Before dying, things, some things, go to limbo, which is the storage room. Find the original here .

He was trying to focus on the wine glass he was holding, but it was impossible. Next to him, a girl with an unforgettable cubist nose, a head taller than her lover, whose appearance was perfectly forgettable. What made these two unequal beings end up together? Further in, a plunging neckline talked about abandoned complexes in an operation room bed. A sad eyed waitress who was making an effort to smile suggested to him a heartbreak, or the exhaustion of a life too young to feel exhausted. By her side, the girl in the neon green coat screamed silently: Look at me! Millions of stories in that stacked venue, stories that he wouldn’t remember anymore and whose oblivion would lead him that night (as many others) to sip away his consciousness. Find the original here .

The dog kept barking while it ran after the blue-clothed man. Someone might think that it was but a game. Only a few knew that it was a matter of life and death. The blue-clothed man zigzagged exaggeratedly trying to avoid the hound’s attacks, which were closing in on him bit by bit. Finally, the dog’s teeth caught the man’s leg who, losing his balance, fell to the ground. Once there he tried by all means to prevent the beast’s fangs from reaching his neck, but it was futile in the end. While some passersby attempted in vain to get him out of the murderous bite, we settled the bet. Find the original here .

The first blow from a stone opened his eyebrow. The second destroyed his leg. After that he was already unable to distinguish in which order nor which stones produced the rest of his injuries. He thought he would come out unhurt from that situation in the end, the way he always did in every single previous film. However, the cartoonists were going too far: he had never felt such pain before. When he realised that he wasn’t going to be able to fly again and that everything seemed to point towards there being no revival, to his own surprise and that of the animators, he said to his creator: “Father, why have you abandoned me?” Find the original here .

The episode lasts more than three minutes already, having interjected three sneezes in between. I lost count of the number of coughs. It’s the third time it has happened since I woke up and there is a series of fifteen to twenty coughs in between attacks, which can be considered isolated amongst themselves because there are spaces of more than twenty seconds in between each of them. I’ve spent thirty seven hours having a cold and my abdominal muscles are starting to hurt from the effort of coughing. Luckily, I have only four hours and eighteen minutes left until the doctor arrives to give me the same syrup as always. Find the original here .

The white smoke is already going out the chimney. I made it. I’m the new Pope, once again. It seems unreal that the humans don’t notice. What better way to poison God’s work than to do so from inside his church? What crusade shall I start this time? Find the original here .

He wanted it to be different. He wanted his students to not be able to make excuses about the type of exam. It should have been a bit of everything: multiple choice questions, essays, math problems… It took him hours to think up, design and write. Ten thousand feet over the Atlantic he thought he had created the best economics exam ever to be. Then, the plane started to lose altitude. The soon to be dead thought about their loved ones, about their past life and unfulfilled dreams. But he, in his last moments, only lamented not being able to give out that wonderful exam. Find the original here .

The venue was filled with smoke. Hundreds of lost stares focused on her. Upon a small and simple stage she rhythmically moved her hips. The jewels hanging from her light clothes sounded in time with the music and so did her belly button with the timpani. Today I don’t even know if I dreamt it or lived it, perhaps both. I just know that, somewhere in Agadir, a woman has my pupils tattooed on her belly. Find the original here .

Once again I got that familiar tingly feeling that picture gave me, the one with the Abu Simbel temples which appeared in every single Arts History book. This time I was about to see them for real though. I followed the path like any other tourist, going around the mount in which they had been dug. Then, suddenly, I saw myself. From thousands of years away, my countenance was gigantified and tripled, and I looked towards Nubia, towards myself, and whispered with his eyes: welcome home. Find the original here .

It was way too hot for February. But it had already been five years of too much heat. She didn’t think much of it until he told her they had to break up. Then she could only imagine that that was yet another consequence of climate change. Much like Pantaleón Pantoja, her husband had let himself get poisoned by the high temperatures and had gone with another girl. Find the original here .

– Goal! – he said while shouting and flipping the bird. The other fan took it as a personal attack. That finger was for him; he knew it. And, on top of that, that goal in the last moment would mean receiving the mocking of his workmates from the opponent team. And at home his wife would tell him “It’s always the same, you’re a fool and are losing time and money supporting a loser team”. He’s flipping the bird! That bastard! He was gonna regret it. – Flip the bird to your mother! – he screamed in his ear while he stabbed him on his side with the switchblade his son had gifted him. Find the original here .

I am bored. Nothing surprises me anymore, since I know everything. I know the present, past and future. I have been everywhere and will be everywhere. My existence is meaningless. In fact, if it were not because some of those insignificant beings from the Earth stubbornly believe in me, I would have committed suicide an Eternity ago. Find the original here .

I’ve seen my blood-covered hands. I’ve watched the blood clot on my palms way too fast. I’ve felt how its heat dissipates. In the meantime, they shook me, asked me hundreds of answerless questions and looked at me with hatred. I couldn’t hear them, and barely saw them: my hands were covered in blood. Find the original here .

My name is Daniel Úbeda and I’m addicted to Second Life. But I’m here today because I’m jealous of my other self, the virtual one. He is tall, has blue eyes and drives a convertible which he parks in a huge chalet that comes with a swimming pool. He works as an artist agent and has no trouble picking up girls every night. I hate him. I have a sad job and a sad and lonely life; and, on top of that, I don’t have any spare time after work, sleeping and bringing life to my other self. Find the original here .

Her coat was heavy like a stone slab fixed to her shoulders. The road looked longer and her destination further with every step. She dragged her bag as if it were a burden. She didn’t want to look back, but she did. He was still looking at her. But now she wouldn’t be able to tell if the tear running down his cheek was actually true or just an illusion. Find the original here .

It is said that when one’s about to kick the bucket they see their life as if it was a movie. That ain’t true: here I am now, next to a machine that is currently mixing the lethal substance that is gonna kill me off, and I can see nothing more than a group of barely faceless shadows behind a glass wall. None of them has been able to stop me: not the governor, not the priest… they didn’t even succeed with that awful trick of bringing my mother before me. I don’t regret it. I don’t regret anything. I’d swear I’m starting to feel the poison running through my veins. This is all about to end: I wish there’s only nothingness after this. Please. But right an instant before, behind the glass wall, I discern a pair of eyes. And it’s hers. Find the original here .

He looked at the ten white rocks that signaled distance for the umpteenth time. “Ten stones, twenty meters”, he thought. “It has to be enough, it has to be”. Once again he walked with his gaze over the stones, counting them from his feet to the end. Then, he began running. “Nine, eight, seven, …” counted him again for the last time as he passed by the signs. “Three, two, one, …”. After that he jumped with all his might. He had imagined it a thousand times. He had run the math time and time again: the distance, speed, wingspan, height and air pressure. The only thing he didn’t think of was that he wasn’t a bird after all. Find the original here .

I’m not going to tell you I love you because it is just not true. I don’t love you a bit, at all. I don’t even like you. I barely look at you when you come near, I never pay attention to you nor do I know anything about you. Nothing, since I don’t love you. What color were your eyes? I don’t know. Nor do I care, of course. I don’t ever notice how your voice’s tone changes when you come at me with sad eyes. I’m not interested in why your skin is so cold that it sometimes burns either. That is what happens when you don’t love someone: they can be with you a day after the other in the office, drinking or crossing the street and they barely exist. Not her, not her lips, and not her hair’s scent. I didn’t notice you today either. I wouldn’t know if your suit’s blue looked great on you, as if you had just come out of a Klimt’s painting, or if the exact reason why somewhere in my chest something broke down, almost silently, when I saw you waiting at the bus stop. I don’t know any of that; and...