Scarecrows

Gobblers / Masticadores

We just quiver when the breeze is upon us and that has them flee scared. The memory of their fluttering and the ephemeral beauty of birdsong is but too faint. Soon they vanish and only silence and still solitude remain.

What an irony though, as we dress in elegant finery: worn-out bright-coloured jerseys, shabby jeans with long hems. The smartest of us boast pointy straw hats.

Yestereve Luna brought me her Sunday shoes. I shall leave next dawn; I know she will keep a secret –she’s such an adorable lass–. Upon my comeback, I will give her long white nightingale plums in return.

THE END

Ver la entrada original

El huésped

Antes de ver lo que Arturito, el repetidor, llevaba en su caja de compases, Guille ocultó su mochila. No había cerrado la cremallera del todo, para que respirase. Luego de ver que tan solo albergaba lombrices de tierra medio muertas, se envalentonó. –Os voy a enseñar mi mascota –dijo–. Es rarísima; cambia de color cada … Sigue leyendo El huésped

Omaha (a short story) by Jorge Aldegunde

A short story rewritten. Hope you all like it.

Gobblers / Masticadores

Just a few minutes earlier I was standing at the stern of a landing craft on the starboard side. Many were praying, others would quiver and vomit.

We felt the enemy fire upon us even before the ramp was lowered. I saw Sizemore and Vitali fell. Burns got badly wounded as he jumped off. Seawater was freezing cold on that June morning.

I ran, God knows for how long, to be able to reach the shore. I came across Otero, who would release his rifle off the cover. A great bang ensued and, suddenly, I felt myself much lighter, as if bereft from an extraordinary burden. I missed my weapon, which I found lying on the sand –next to an arm whose trembling hand would still grasp it–.

THE END

Ver la entrada original