The other

The other looks at me silently. I look at him with the same look. There is no handshake or talk that breaks the silence. We both recognize each other after knowing our existence for a long time. We have many things in common. But even so, friends get confused with our attitudes. They think it's me, but no, it's the other. Rather, it seems that we are playing hide and seek, as we have never met before. They hate me when they see me serious, and they hate my attachment to vain things. They like to see me as the other. We cross our eyes without saying anything, and they reflect the animosity we have for each other. I break that reflection into a thousand splinters wanting to end that chance encounter. I turn around and leave the room in a daze thinking about the common things that tie up our lives. I manage to hear the noise that the other makes reconstructing the mirror, in order to look at myself again and detest with equal or greater force everything that I represent.

The other looks at me from afar, from the mirror that imprisons our features.

Cassandra

Cassandra, the fortune teller, took to the streets and found a world different from the one she had thought. He decided that since the future was not very rosy for men, to sink his thousands of eyes into televisions. Since then, children and adults have left their imaginations in the hands of these devices. Cassandra, now, forecast the present.

The trap

The men closed the doors and windows to all renovation. They preferred to look through the slits at the witches who fled desperately on their brooms on full moon nights followed by heavy clouds, cursing cloaks of oaths and imprecations, and incantations, to exorcise the evils of the new winds. Toads, snakes, mice and other vermin were expelled from the mouths of heretics in the long night of the inquisition, which not even Goya with his paintings could against the wrath of God's judgments, which turned the just into sinners. . Many stories were woven around the men and women of that time. Some historians say that most of them surreptitiously set about making them fall into their traps, and that each one sought his own for himself. 

They proceeded as follows: 

"They left a glass of water in the middle of the edges of the blades of open scissors and thrown on the floor where he wanted to take them. In the middle of the night they entered delighted traps, and appeared eager before the hunter furtive who was waiting for them to make love ". 

Now the way of catch them has changed. If you want to take them, follow my advice. Lie down comfortably, on your back, on the roof of your house or in a special part for the occasion. Make it the day when the sun is perpendicular overhead, and the moon is horizontal in the sky. Close your eyes. Please wait a few minutes. You will see them in your imagination dance on the celestial vault. Don't panic. From the sun they will come resolute towards you. They will arrive slowly. Take the one you want, and enjoy. 

If you are a woman, do the same. The difference is that the sun must be horizontal and the moon vertical at your head. Relax. Wait calm. He will see us go lustful.

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.