The red moons and the gray spots

I. 

A gray spot follows a red moon until the light of day. When evening falls on the red smoothness, the moon becomes a gray spot. 

II.

Two red moons are coming fleeing from a gray spot. 

One hides behind the laughing dawn, and the other travels through a dire storm. 

The gray spot follows in their tracks and hunts them in a break from clarity. 

They are instantly gray spots. 

III. 

A red moon lights up his face in the backwater that the breeze brightens. He hears the wailing of the gray spots and thinks they must have been red moons in his youth. Pummel the moans that go by the wind and the red moons appear happy with the punishment of aleve stain. 

IV. 

The three moons talk about the spot and do not realize that it returns again. 

A murmur is felt in the water. 

The gray stain covers the crystalline liquid, and strikes the moons with earthy darkness. 

V. 

Another moon absorbs the pollen of some roses and distributes it in the labyrinths of the gray spot, which is cornered and gives way to the slight trace of the moons. 

Now the red moons play in the crystalline backwater, barely remenber of the gray spot.

The last dragon

 

It was a huge dragon. The warty, earthy body resembled a movable mound in the vast ocean. His skin glowed on full moon nights many leagues away. His eyes could distinguish any vessel that ventured through that dangerous sea. The still and silent air prevented him from spreading his beautiful wings to the wind.

In the time of storms, the dragon easily waded through the waves and took advantage of the gusty wind to stretch its wings that would take it to other places. Many say that he cried his anguish with the snorts that for days he blew into the wind. It really was a nice specimen. It was the last dragon. The largest that ever existed on earth. When he put his head in the water, it curled furiously. Then the waves ravaged the shores.

The last time this was known, it was the day that it appeared on the surface throwing fire from its jaws against the boats that were in one of the fishing seasons. with the fire that it expelled, it evaporated a good portion of the seawater, and produced an immense whirlpool that consumed it completely. The sailors still remember that last marine storm that survived, although in their memory they will never forget the tides of water and fire in the middle of the immensity of the ocean, haunted by that marine monstrosity.

The corpse collector

 

Lean, with a complexion tanned by the sun, sunken cheekbones, vacant eyes, with the usual cough, accompanied by another boy similar to him, every morning he collects the corpses thrown on the sidewalks of the avenues of a major city in India , without any grimace or gesture. He does his job like any garbage collector in our country.

Sometimes he talks to his companion, in another he scavenges in the clothes of the dead from hunger, always chewing the straw that swarms in the air, trying not to hinder the cows that wander silently in search of the grass they might find in the streets muddy.

Daughter of the moon

That night in a bush in the park we waited for the mother to come for her daughter. Squatting as we were we shone the lantern towards the center of the garden to see the event. A little bird fluttered in the sky just as the moon appeared. This is how he had told us before.

He left us fond memories. Among which: How to play with animals, or mimic the whistling of birds.

Now that many years have passed, I think of the girl of those times, transformed into one of the millions of stars of the night. I also imagine her accompanied by the mother of silver threads back to earth. Perhaps he will play with other children again and tell them other stories. It must still be the same, because in the gods the years are a few moments, while in the man they are a lifetime. 

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.