The Father
Shared Birthday. Tomorrow is your birthday. Your real one, from your birth; not the one from your diagnosis. Alzheimer’s, said the doctor; the disease of forgetting, I say; unbearable, say others.
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The Call of Courage
Inspired by Brené Brown’s documentary The Call to Courage, we narrate in Pueblo a travel story where a person navigates through their vulnerable thoughts from the window of an airplane.
The Handmaiden
How can such a thing be explained? This article is inspired by the erotic psychological thriller The Maiden, where two women narrate, each from her personal perspective, an erotic encounter that inevitably leads to a fateful conclusion.
The Black Cat by Edgar Allan Poe
I do not expect, nor ask for, anyone to believe the strange yet simple story I am about to write. I would be mad to expect it when my own senses reject their own evidence. But I am not mad, and I know very well that this is not a dream. Tomorrow I die, and I wish to unburden my soul today.
Deprived of Freedom
No longer is there hidden magic behind the moon; its eternal glow no longer accompanies my steps. Now I drive by day, and as soon as dusk approaches, it locks me in, and I feel deprived of freedom.
Forrest Gump’s Girlfriend
The good guys are good, the bad guys are bad, and the villains are…
Hollywood stories are not known for their narrative complexity when it comes to their characters. Maybe Forrest Gump’s girlfriend could be the exception, but…
It’s so well-known that even cartoons lack color, like Deadpool. Creating morally ambiguous characters, with whom the audience doesn’t feel completely comfortable, either loving or hating them, would be a rarity.
A World of Strange Things
So, a thing is a thing, a thing is a noun; a noun is a thing. But, a thing is a thing and another thing is another thing. That is, everything can be a thing, but between one thing and another thing, there’s a difference. One thing is one thing and another very different thing is another thing, say, anything.
The Last Heartbeat
If only the darkness would stop calling me, in my last heartbeat, if only the edge of that voice wouldn’t cut me, perhaps I could move on with my life. But no, it’s always the same. It’s as if my feet were stuck to the floor and my arms were being pulled by hands coming out of the darkness.
This Woman Called Hannah
She used to contemplate the horizon for hours, alone on that small but comfortable bench, waiting to see the beautiful and eternal sunset. Perhaps this woman named Hannah could say.