THERE’S NO PLACE
No place exists,
no time remains,
your memory fades
beyond my brain.
A chance encounter will take him far away, on a
thrilling adventure full of action and emotion that will change his life... but
also the lives of everyone around him…
“Fleeing into silence”: https://a.co/d/7SUfVb3
At the edge of the village, where the road stretched
toward the horizon, Miguel and Rosa stood waiting for a ride to a small,
solitary beach—a haven to escape the lingering September heat. “There’s one. Stop it,” Miguel said. Rosa raised her hand, and a screeching halt
broke the quiet. They hurried to the car.
“Can you take us to the beach?” Miguel asked.
“Get in,” replied the driver, his prominent beard
catching the light. “Stopped for your beard. Don’t see many these days,” he
added with a grin, stroking his own.
The winding road carried them swiftly away from the
city, closer to the solitude they craved. At the beach, they thanked the
driver, who vanished in a cloud of dust, leaving only tire tracks behind. Rosa
exhaled, relieved to be free of the breakneck speed. They followed a dirt path
down to the shore, smiling at its emptiness. It was a weekday evening, just
past six, and the deserted beach was exactly what they’d hoped for. In the
early days of their bond, they needed this shared solitude to uncover each
other’s depths.
They settled on the sand near some rocks, spreading
their towels. In their swimsuits, Miguel slipped off his watch, casting aside
time itself. For someone who battled the clock daily, this was his victory.
They lit a cigarette, drawing on it slowly, savoring each moment. “Why rush?
That’s for others,” they thought. They lingered on the overlooked: the smoke
curling into the air, the rhythmic kiss of waves on the shore, the weary sun
warming their skin, the electric brush of each other’s hands. “It’s love—a
static spark,” they mused silently. They were a perfect fit: trivial to those
too jaded to dream, everything to them, who saw life’s true measure.
The cigarette burned out.
“Shall we swim?” Miguel offered. They sprang up. Miguel’s methodical nature
tamed Rosa’s wild impulses, while she softened his rigidity when needed.
“Everything in its time,” he often said. They raced to the water, splashing
foam with each step. At waist-deep, they dove in.
“Bloody hell, it’s full of seaweed!” Miguel
shouted. Rosa laughed, dodging him in
the water. They played, chasing without catching, until exhaustion drew them
back to shore. Miguel grumbled about the red seaweed clinging to his legs.
“Disgusting!” Hand in hand, they waded
toward the sun, its low rays turning the sea into a shimmering mirror.
“We’ve got to capture this light,” Miguel said, eyeing
the perfect conditions for photos.
“Wait,” Rosa murmured.
She wanted to drink in the moment, to fill the hollows left by days
before him. Her skin glowed like the water, alive with the same radiance.
“Your refractive index is off the charts,” Miguel
teased, reading her thoughts. They
reached the shore. Miguel shook off the seaweed with exaggerated hops, and they
paused, gazing into each other’s eyes. Words piled up unspoken, held back by
the weight of emotion. Their lips drew near. A rogue wave crashed over them,
burying them in foam. Laughing, they crawled to the sand, their teeth glinting
in the sunlight. On the shore, they stared at the boundless sea. “Let’s move a bit,” Miguel suggested. They ran along the water’s edge, stomping the
dying waves. Back at their towels, Miguel dried his hands and grabbed his
camera. He framed Rosa through the lens, chasing new angles, contrasts,
profiles, backlit silhouettes. Each shot was a bid to freeze her essence, to
make the moment eternal.
The sun sank below the horizon, and a quiet sadness
settled over them. They dressed, gathered their things, and trudged back to the
road. Night enveloped them, but the sea’s last glimmers lingered in their
minds. A car stopped, and they returned to the city, slower now. Through the
window, the day slipped away—yet something endured in their hearts. And in the
photographs, of course. Sometimes, even technology holds a piece of the soul.
A chance encounter will take him far away, on a
thrilling adventure full of action and emotion that will change his life... but
also the lives of everyone around him…
“Fleeing into silence”: https://a.co/d/7SUfVb3
I WRITE NOW (THINKING OF YOU)
Don’t ask me why,
I long to spend my life
tracing your words,
kindling light
within my mind.
A chance encounter will take him far away, on a
thrilling adventure full of action and emotion that will change his life... but
also the lives of everyone around him…
“Fleeing into silence”: https://a.co/d/7SUfVb3
Miguel walks alone in the fading light of dusk, his
steps heavy, faltering against the unyielding asphalt. The city’s towering
buildings block the horizon, blurring into a haze through his faintly tearful
eyes. A cold gust of wind brushes past, carrying fragments of distant noise—a
jarring, fleeting melody from a passing car. Above, the night descends in a
silent flutter, draping its shadow over his weary frame.
-oOo-
Isabel’s gaze held him, her eyes soft yet piercing,
brimming with unspoken promises. Their hands inched closer across the worn café
table, her fingers abandoning the cold condensation of her glass. Miguel’s hand
trembled slightly, drawn to hers as if by instinct. Then, a fleeting touch—her
hand, warm and alive, met his. Without a word, their fingers intertwined,
gripping tighter, as if afraid the moment might dissolve. In that quiet clasp,
the world beyond their hands ceased to exist.
-oOo-
Miguel trudges onward, his pace uneven, quickening
whenever a stranger brushes past. He isn’t fleeing—not exactly. No one pursues
him, yet his shadow clings relentlessly, a silent companion on this endless
avenue. The city feels alien, its lights smudged and unfamiliar, as though he’s
wandered into a dream that isn’t his. His chest tightens; exhaustion weighs on
him, each step a battle against the infinite stretch of this unchanging road.
-oOo-
“Why are you alone?” Antonio’s voice cut through the
din of the crowded bar, his hand extended in greeting.
“She couldn’t come,” Miguel replied, his voice flat,
hollowed by something unspoken.
Antonio’s smile didn’t waver. “No worries, man.
Maribel’s here.”
Miguel’s gaze drifted to her—Maribel, laughing softly
in the corner, her presence a spark in the dim room. For a moment, he felt
lighter, as if her warmth could thaw the ache he carried.
-oOo-
Miguel glances at his watch, the hands glowing
faintly: 9:30 p.m. The sun, now a dying ember on the horizon, casts a frail red
glow. He walks on, each step slower, as if the weight of time itself presses against
him. The avenue stretches endlessly before him, a ribbon of asphalt leading
nowhere.
-oOo-
“Does the light bother you?” Maribel’s whisper was
soft, teasing, her breath warm against his ear.
“A little,” Miguel admitted, still unaware of the pull
drawing him closer.
Without a word, she guided him to a shadowed corner of
the bar, where couples melted into their own private worlds, oblivious to the
chaos around them. The faint red glow of a neon sign barely reached them. In
that dim refuge, words became unnecessary. A current, primal and unspoken,
surged between them—her fingers tracing his jaw, his hands finding her waist.
They surrendered to a dance of touches, a fleeting escape from the weight of
their separate lives.
-oOo-
Miguel’s body trembles, a bone-deep cold seeping into
his weary limbs. The avenue morphs into a narrow bridge, its fragile railing
his only anchor. Below, a river of cars streaks by, their colors bleeding into
the twilight. His heart rebels, urging him to leap, to end the torment gnawing
at his soul. Yet his hands, driven by some primal instinct, cling to the
railing with desperate strength. A war rages within him—surrender versus
survival. At last, he releases his grip, stumbles back, and bolts across the
bridge. His legs falter; he hesitates. A blinding flash—a car’s
headlights—rushes toward him. Too late, he tries to dodge. A sickening thud,
the screech of tires, and pain explodes through him. The car vanishes into the
stream of traffic, leaving him sprawled on the asphalt, the world spinning into
darkness.
-oOo-
Miguel stumbled home, the buzz of alcohol clouding his
thoughts, his heart still alight from the night’s fleeting warmth. As he
reached his door, a figure emerged from the shadows—Isabel. Her presence struck
him like a blow.
“What are you doing here?” he stammered, his voice
unsteady.
Her eyes locked onto his, a storm of emotions swirling
within them—love, betrayal, accusation, all at once. No words came, only that
piercing gaze. Understanding crashed over him like a wave. “It wasn’t me!” he
cried, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean it—you have to believe me!”
But Isabel said nothing. Her hands, once firm on his
shoulders, slipped away, lifeless. She turned, her silhouette fading into the
night, leaving him grasping at air, his pleas dissolving into silence.
-oOo-
Miguel lies crumpled on the pavement, his breaths
shallow, ragged. Pain radiates through his body, sharp and unrelenting. He
tries to rise, but his limbs betray him. His gaze falls to the asphalt, where a
dark stain spreads—his blood, glistening under the streetlights. His trembling
hand touches his forehead, fingers coming away slick with warmth. A shudder
runs through him. With a final surge of will, he forces himself to his feet,
swaying like a broken marionette. He presses a handkerchief to his brow; it
comes away stained with crimson.
Staggering, Miguel retraces his steps down the endless
avenue. Behind him, the small pool of blood fades into the asphalt, swallowed
by the city’s indifference, like so many things lost to time.
A chance encounter will take him far away, on a
thrilling adventure full of action and emotion that will change his life... but
also the lives of everyone around him…
“Fleeing into silence”: https://a.co/d/7SUfVb3
No
sé por qué se me ocurrió un día traducir al inglés algunos de mis artículos e
informaciones (de los que publico a diario en mi blog en español “Diario
AZprensa”) y mostrarlos a través de un nuevo blog al que bauticé como “Worth
Reading Magazine” (este mismo que ahora estás leyendo).
Sin
embargo, poco después me he dado cuenta que esto es un trabajo estéril, porque
Google y cualquier otro buscador o herramienta informática te lo traduce al
instante al idioma que tú quieras, no sólo al inglés sino también a cualquier
idioma que tú le indiques.
Por
eso, este incipiente proyecto llamado “Worth Reading Magazine” toca su fin
porque todo lo que escribo en el “Diario AZprensa” te lo puede traducir Google
al inglés o al idioma que quieras, y además con bastante acierto.
De
todas formas, no borraré nada de lo publicado aquí hasta ahora, pero dejo
constancia de que es en el “Diario AZprensa” en donde sigo publicando todo lo
que escribo y muchas de esas informaciones y artículos son dignas de ser
leídas.
“Diario
AZprensa”: https://azpressnews.blogspot.com
.oOo-
I don't know why it occurred to me one day to
translate some of my articles and information (which I publish daily on my
Spanish blog "Diario AZprensa") into English and show them through a
new blog that I named "Worth Reading Magazine" (this very one you are
reading now).
However, I soon realized that this is a futile
endeavor, because Google and any other search engine or computer tool instantly
translates it into any language you want, not just English but any language you
specify.
Therefore, this fledgling project called “Worth
Reading Magazine” is coming to an end, because everything I write in “Diario
AZprensa” can be translated by Google into English or any other language you
want, and quite accurately.
In any case, I won't delete anything I've published
here so far, but I want to point out that I continue to publish everything I
write in the "Diario AZprensa" (AZPrensa Newspaper), and much of this
information and articles are worth reading.
“Diario
AZprensa”: https://azpressnews.blogspot.com
