The jorney in the imagination

 Come on, he said.

-Where, I answered.

-Come on, he reaffirmed.

I followed her in a hurry, dodging the fireballs of light and the chaotic music of the universe. All the stars illuminated us and in his face I could make out how the gardenias bloomed in the garden of dreams. Very occasionally he looked at me with the fire of his pupils.

- Happy? I ask.

-Yes, I whispered.

She sucked in some air, and blew it out to infinity.

- What is your name? I inquired.

- My name doesn't matter, he said. Let's move on.

We embarked on the journey in the immense sea of ​​imagination. We feel great satisfaction because we have been recreating our steps for centuries.

Gamer killed for fame

To Andrés Escobar. 

He died at the time and in the least expected place. Before the fans had booed him for his unfortunate participation in the outcome of a match in his last World Cup. He wanted to rise to fame, and fame killed him. He was murdered by a poor devil who bet everything he had on the failed game. Fatal mistake. When he died, death had haunted the conscience of that deranged murderer for days.

The conscious librarian

 

It was Sunday and he did not have to pay for the hotel room. At dawn the establishments were closed, and as the police did not let the needy sleep on the sidewalks of the streets, in the hallways of the houses, or the buildings, he spent the night walking through the lonely streets of the city, shivering with cold, and very sleepy.

The next day, very early in the morning, he went to the usual cafeteria to have a red. Later, while waiting for a friend who could probably get him a job, he headed to the library to read a book.

Without realizing it, sitting in one of the chairs with his arms outstretched, he fell asleep.

After a while he woke up. He called the librarian and asked why he didn't bring the book he asked for.

- "I was sorry to wake you up, sir." He replied.

The snaw man

Everyone knows about the snow man. His footprints reappeared yesterday in the main newspapers of the world, reminding us of a legend impossible to forget. They are so big, that they can only correspond to a giant man, so massive, that sitting on a chair should be smashed. Well, these are stories that we weave around them. For my part, I do not want to see him fighting for life in the big cities, and it is also likely that if he comes down from the snowy peaks he could be turned into a pool of crystalline water. It would be a shame to see it drain away at the same time that human warmth is sowing happiness and sadness to the homos sapiens, and it would be intolerable to have to take care of it like any newborn after having endured its existence in our imagination for centuries. For this reason, I prefer to discover again and from time to time his footprints on the snow, to feel that he is very close, serene, looking at us in the blizzard of the immeasurably cold night, aware of his destiny: "Wandering around the world, leaving us hope that will haunt for many more centuries, stealthy and calm. " Lucky for him, in his long existence.

The man in the raincoat

His eyes tear the air with the accumulated hatred that he carries inside. Through his dark glasses he looks at us sharply and senses the fear that our hearts harbor. He haunt in all corners behind the flowered jasmine. He stretch your nose to feel better. Any movement of the air follows it with its aquiline nose to the confines of the springs. It haunts us with gunpowder and the labyrinths of the indecipherable. Proud of controlling the subtle thread of our lives, from time to time he makes us breathe in filthy sewers without letting the throbbing of anguish crumble. He prepare the best in the cobweb that dislodges our meats at the gallop of slow sweat. He concocts a tidal wave and accuses us of letting him come before our astonished gazes. He puts on his hat and raincoat again ready to take a walk through our wounds. Wait for us to ease ourselves to start over with the rage that carries with it.

The shadow

 

The shadow of my shadow is not the same as me, nor is it the shadow of you or of any other or another, but the only one similar to the shadow of your shadow of another or another. Like someone who says: "It belongs to everyone a little, and to none too." She roamed through the thoughts of Julius Caesar or Napoleon. He was also at the side of Bolívar or San Martín. He accompanied the Christians in their captivity, and followed them to their peak in the Middle Ages. It still haunts us, like a shadow that is not a shadow. When we spit, the shadow reveals the sputum on the ground. The shadow of my shadow does the opposite. He probably laughs, or blasphemes with exhaustion. It slips into the books accumulated in libraries, or into the memory of computers where centuries go back in seconds. Try not to get in the way of every man. Let us meditate and weigh the current concerns, and wait patiently for our mistakes to make us vibrate with your conscience. Aware of our mistakes, she guides us along the paths we take in the history of civilization. Our stage culminates with others, changing their way of thinking day by day. The shadow of my shadow is not the same as yours or someone else's, but it is part of what is yours and what is mine. While I laugh, she spits or is sad. Something different can happen with the shadow of your shadow. But anyway she follows us or leads us by the hand. It has no shape or shape. It's mine, not yours.

The pact

On that occasion the men discussed their regrets and placed them on the oblivion table to discern about the way forward. They weighed the future, and agreed with nature to prevent the destruction of life. Each one left the feelings seized before the judgment of their descendants, in case they did not comply with the agreement. In return, Mother Earth watered her fruits in pots. It spared the joys in the anguished hearts. An immense uproar went through the entire globe celebrating the freedom that came through science. The clouds of death were cornered in the deepest part of the universe, and new worlds were discovered. Now they walk through the corridors of galaxies in the middle of unknown planets.