Martiricos 2018 by Juan Manuel Lopez Garcia

MARTIRICOS Mรกlaga EOI Short Story Journal Nยบ 17 May 2018

MARTIRICOS is an annual publication of Málaga’s E.O.I. English Department. Its sole purpose is to make public the short stories that each year are short-listed in Málaga’s E.O.I. Short Story Contest, which can be entered for by all the students (any language) of all the Escuelas de Idiomas in Andalucia as long as the story is written in English. In this edition, 2017-18, the first prize has been awarded to Daniel Barroso Rosendo for the story “The Girl who didn’t Stay”, Irene García Fernández has been the runner up with “The Bucket” while José Carlos García Cuevas has come in third with “Three Weeks Remaining” The three of them will also be published in SUR in English.

MARTIRICOS Nº 17– MAY 2018 Panel of judges of XVII Malaga E.O.I. Short Story Contest Rosana Arjona Pérez, Arantxa Hernández Sánchez, Amaya Fernández Alonso, Blanca Mª Lara González, Aránzazu Pereira Monedero, José Manuel Bernárdez Ruiz, Mª Dolores Ruiz García, Mª Luisa Castillo Montiel, Carmen Galán Jiménez, Alba Martín de Pedro, Encarnación Serrano Reina and Marta Moreno López de Uralde. Sur in English. Proofreader: Manuel Castaño Editor-in-chief: Manuel Castaño. Internet Edition: Marta Perles: www.eoimalaga.com Cover: Manuel Castaño. Cover photograph: www.pinterest.es Distribution: Libraries of all EOIs in Andalucía, UMA General & Filosofía y Letras, Diputación de Málaga, CEP, Delegación Provincial de Educación. Depósito legal: MA- 565 – 2003 Martiricos edición impresa: ISSN 2253-9875 Martiricos en internet: ISSN 2253-9859

Contents The Girl who didn’t Stay………... Daniel Barroso Rosendo…………2 The Bucket …………………..……..…Irene García Fernández…………..4 Three Weeks Remaining……..… José Carlos García Cuevas…….…6 On the Edge………………..……..… Anna Garashchuk…………………….8 The Jewel………………….……….… Mª Ángeles López Gómez………10 Alone……………………………….…. Guillermo Segura Picón…….…….11 Once upon a Time………..…….. Ana Belén Ponferrada Conejo…13 A Sea between Us……………… Encarnación Mª Jiménez Martín.14 I was There………………….……. Mª Pilar Marín Ruiz…………..………15 The Knight of the Grail….….. Fernando Villodres Núñez…………17

The Girl who didn’t Stay Daniel Barroso Rosendo Daniel was born in Cádiz in 1973. He went on to take a degree in English Studies by the university of Seville. He is now a Secondary School English teacher in Cádiz. He likes music and literature and has published some poems and translations.

Stella was a little girl so fearless and so bold. She flew an old-fashioned aeroplane all around the world. She sat with delight in the cock-pit feeling real proud, So determined and excited as she ventured through the clouds. She landed on a desert of cinnamon dunes topped with caramel. Soon she met a kind merchant who was riding on his camel. “Come to our oasis, my dear, don’t worry if you have no money, We make delicious pastries with pistacchios, nuts and some honey.” She was treated to a jarof fresh lemonade from the sparkling well And all the merchants even invited Stella to be a guest at the Marzipan hotel. “Thanks! That‘s very kind of you, but sorry! I can’t stay!” And then she got back on her plane and off she flew away. She landed on a lake of ice cream, since her seaplane had floats, surrounded by mountains of biscuits with a sugar-gloss coat. Delicious melting ice cream and golden brown syrup to taste, the people were so sweet and friendly all eating without haste. “Come on! Get on board!, said a lollipop girl from the village nearby. “Scoops of strawberry ice-cream for free,” she looked Stella in the eye. “Thanks! That‘s very kind of you, but sorry I can’t stay!” And then she got back on her plane and off she flew away. She landed in a jungle of liquorice trees and juicy fizzy streams. Stella filled up the aircraft hold with fruit jellybeans. Snakes were made of marshmallows and hives were like candy floss clouds. She chuckled to herself climbing the trees laughing out loud. Later she became friends with a monkey as funny as can be.

“Why don’t you live here with us,” he said, “and live from tree to tree.” “Thanks! That‘s very kind of you, but sorry I can’t stay!” And then she got back on her plane and off she flew away. She touched down at the airport of a shiny city at night and was amazed by the traffic and the glowing neon lights. She walked for hours on the pavement until she stopped and crossed her legs, “Why are all the mailboxes in this city made of chocolate eggs?” Stella opened one and there was a robot inside as a gift. “Let’s go shopping,” he said. ”My friends will give us a lift.” “Thanks! That‘s very kind of you, but sorry I can’t stay.” And then she got back on her plane and off she flew away.

Stella was hungrier than usual that wet winter Sunday morning. She woke up mum and dad and they went downstairs yawning. To wake them up completely mum did the usual, all that it takes: Coffee, hot chocolate and delicious syrupy pancakes! Then dad lit up the fireplace to make the kitchen cozy and warm. They sat quietly munching while outside brewed a storm. Stella looked at her mum and dad as they clinked their ‘yummy mugs’ together, “I’m so happy here with you that I could stay home forever!”

The Bucket

Irene García Fernández Irene was born in Almería, where she took a degree in Biological Sciences and currently works as a pathology Research Technician. She loves English and reading thrillers and admits to be developing a passion for writing. She has published several papers in scientific journals. Last year she published “My Soul in Tears” in Martiricos and the year before she won the writing competition in her Language School in El Egido (Almería) with her essay entitled “Make Your Own Way” The sound of the window being violently hit by the robust tree branches was buzzing in Xiu-mei's head. It was pouring down in such a way that it appeared the panes were going to break into pieces sooner or later. Monsoons had arrived at Guangxi earlier that year. Inside the tiny hut set in the heart of Mujingshui, the strong wind spread even more intensely. The deafening gale had been shaking the dirty poor shack since dawn. It was about to collapse as a result of the severe storm. “This ancient house needs getting the roof fixed,” Xiu-mei thought when she saw the rusty bucket he’d placed beneath the incessant leak. “But we might not have been able to afford it,” she gave up. The humble room was intermittently lit up by powerful lightning. That morning, Xiu-mei had scarily been watching those huge greyish clouds which had threatened to vent their fury, and finally, they fulfilled their promise by far. Despite the rough weather, beads of sweat ran down Xiu-mei’s forehead. Along with the stifling heat of the summer, especially wet and sizzling, the air was so dense that just breathing could result in an extremely hard effort. Xiu-mei was lying on a grungy mattress, feeling her body all but shattered. Even though she was really used to enduring pain, on this occasion she felt far more vulnerable than in her entire life. “Please, give me something to bear it,” she pleaded eagerly, looking sideways at a drop of liquid which was coming out of the needle. “Please, it’s killing me,” she begged groaning with pain. Staring at her was Qiang, the man with whom she had been madly in love. His atmospheric eyes recalled for her the first time they met. Funnily enough, they wouldn’t be together nowadays hadn’t Xiu-mei’s father arranged the affluent feast where Qiang worked. It was held in the stunning manor she grew up in. The side of her mouth curled into a smile on picturing the scene. “It seemed someone else’s life,” she sighed. That day, the vast majority of plums blossomed; she was enraptured either by the pleasant scent or by the view. Delicate flowers were swaying in the wind as if dancing when he passed by her line of sight carrying a heavy tray. The soft breeze rocked his fringe revealing the most charming gaze. Perhaps, if he hadn’t smiled so tenderly at her, her heart wouldn’t have missed a beat, but nonetheless he had, and she put the smile back shyly. Sharply, the pitter patter of rain made her lose her train of thought. She was exhausted. The cramps in her lower belly were getting more

and more painful. “Do you remember the day we met?” she asked to achieve a token of sympathy, to no avail. Whilst they barely knew each other, they made the choice of getting married shortly after they’d met. She doubtlessly changed her wealthy life for living in the most absolute poverty. Nevertheless, the fairy tale didn’t take long to dissipate. Violence progressed silently while the relationship drew on. More often than not, he gave her hell. Hits were happening day after day. At one point, she even got used to receiving them, and nowadays the situation appeared to be run-of-the-mill. “Do I deserve such beating? What can I do?” She came to believe everything was her fault. Xiu-mei was such a wretched person, so much as for her to want to die. “I wish I hadn’t been so blind so as to go down the aisle,” she surprised herself thinking, every now and again. Xiu-mei was emotionally dependent on him. She was actually nowhere near as cheerful and beaming as she used to be in the wake of his mistreatment. He shaped her up as a miserable and unhappy woman. Once in a while, Xiu-mei thought of fleeing from everything and leave him alone, but her aim vanished quickly due to the fact that the utter fear hindered the woman from making her mind up. As a result of labour contractions, Xiu-mei yelled. In spite of the pain screams, he kept apathetic, looking coldly at her. “Those have been especially strong. I feel weak indeed,”the young woman said underneath her breath. “I won’t be able to push. I’m worn out,” she panted. “Stop moaning, you whiner,” he grunted, glancing at her stonily. “If you bear a girl, she’ll be drowned and I’ll break every single one of your bones, filthy woman.” He spat out the words with repugnance, pointing her to the bucket. The delivery turned out a great deal harder than she had ever imagined. With no help, with no warmth, without a hint of love, she did feel lonely. She was down in the dumps and she was absolutely terrified as well, remembering what Qiang had promised he would do with the baby should she bring a girl to life. In the end, some odd pushing was needed to bring blissfulness to Xiu-mei’s heart, blissfulness and fear. On the one hand, she was as happy as the day is long, but on the other hand, she was scared stiff because of their unclear future. “Oh, my dear,” he guffawed at the time he lit a cigarette and gave it a long drag. “It seems to me that somebody will have drowned today by the end of my fag,” he shouted out each word. Enfeebled and sore, she entreated for a moment to kiss her baby’s smooth cheek. Then, she carefully set down the baby on the mat, and out of the blue she whispered, “I agree…” Xiu-mei could see bewilderment followed by sheer panic in Qiang’s eyes when he peered into her hand and started understanding. Eventually, she pushed the syringe piston down, gazing at him for a heart-stopping moment, and just before he knocked down, she took a look at the bucket and furiously retorted: “Consider it done.”

Three Weeks Remaining José Carlos García Cuevas Born in 1970, José Carlos is a passionate lover of cinema and music. He also likes the theatre, literature and practising sports. He is currently taking his B2 in English at EOI Málaga and works as a civil servant for the Junta de Andalucía. Only three more weeks and Cathy would be calling herself a Doctor in Medicine. Even with her lifelong wish within easy reach, she did not allow herself a break, but it was not something strange. She had behaved that way since she was a little girl. Her childhood had not been easy. She could hardly remember a single day without one, or many, heated arguments at home. .. Home; four walls do not make a home, at least in her case. She used to spend very little time in it, especially if Martha, her mother, was there. That is why she had run away from home so many times. On one occasion, she had spent five days away before she was found by the police, living with a gang of petty thieves and burglars in a deserted apartment building. Martha beat her so hard that she was in hospital for nine days. Fortunately, Social Services did their job and Martha lost custody of her and her brother Anthony, eight years her junior. Unfortunately, that separated their lives. They were given up for adoption to different families and Anthony was very unlucky with his new parents. They did not take care of him very much and he lost himself in a life of drug abuse that made him pass away at the age of nineteen. Cathy was not told immediately and when she learnt of it some months later, it was too much for her to forgive Martha. During that time, Cathy and Martha had been in touch regularly. In the bottom of her heart, Cathy hoped for Martha to have a regular life. They had even spent some time together, and it was good for both in a certain way, but Anthony´s dramatic death changed their relationship. Cathy had already started studying Medicine and was flat sharing with other two girls, taking as many jobs as she could, in order to pay the rent and her studies, but she moved to live alone and since then, she had just focussed on her degree. Being a resident doctor,it was something she could afford. Martha could not spent a single day without thinking of her children. A turbulent girlhood sharply finished with a pregnancy made her fall into a nervous breakdown and behaviour disorders, but she had always loved Cathy and she had always struggled to show love for her daughter, in spite of not having an easy going personality. Martha had to work long hours in order to earn a living. Cathy would spend many hours home alone. Then came Anthony and Martha would lose most of her jobs. Martha became a drug-dealer since she could not get enough money for her family otherwise. Cathy was sixteen at the time, and

she could neither understand nor forgive Martha’s behaviour, especially, after Anthony´s passing after a drug overdose. It had been six years since Cathy had left home and Martha´s life had completely changed. She had a regular job, cleaning offices at night and eventually she volunteered for a charity which helped elderly people in need. Mother and daughter were not in touch anymore, but Martha managed to find out about Cathy, allowing herself to be seen by Cathy next to the Hospital entrance, wishing that her daughter would address her. It never happened, as for Cathy, her mother was invisible. Nothing in the world would be more hurtful to Martha than Cathy´s glance, mixed with ignorance and defiance. However, Martha kept waiting by the hospital doors, yearning for a change. RIIIIIING!! . It was 5:10 a.m. when Cathy´s mobile woke her up. It was Oliver, one of her colleagues at the Hospital, and probably, her best and only friend. He was on duty and he knew she was not, so Cathy stared at the mobile, wondering whether to answer it or not. She finally did, knowing that Oli would not play a trick on her at that time. “Good morning, Cathy!” Oliver said. “Sorry to call you at this time, but I think you should come and see something. An ambulance has just brought in a beggar with terrible hallucinations. He´s been cleaned up and we´ll begin with the clinical study shortly. I think it could be paranoid schizophrenia.” “Not very common these days,” Cathy replied. “I´m on my way, Oli. Thanks for calling.” Martha was finishing with her last office that night. Thirty more minutes and she would be on holiday for the next two weeks. The first ones in a long time. Maybe she would travel to the south. The weather was freezing cold and she had met a man on-line. He had asked her to visit him and she had not refused. “I´ll sleep on it,” she had told him and, finally, she had decided that she would give him a chance. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she was thinking while she closed the last office door and walked to the locker room. Cathy left her home in a rush. She had to drive to the Hospital because it was Saturday and the subway was not running yet. It had been snowing the whole night and the roads were quite slippery because of the ice. Although she did not like driving on ice, she was used to it and she was eager to arrive at the Hospital so she was driving fast, even dangerously fast. Martha left the building and took her way home. She had to wait twenty minutes for the station to open and the weather was disturbingly cold, so she decided to have a hot chocolate in the café opposite the station. She started to cross the street without paying attention to the cars … The telephone rang. “It must be Oliver” Cathy thought. Who else could it be? The hospital was really close, but she decided to answer the phone nonetheless. Martha was crossing the street.

Cathy turned her head and opened her bag, looking for her mobile phone. She found it but did not notice the woman crossing the street. She hit the brakes, but the ice made the car slide and she ran over the woman. For the very first time in many years, mother and daughter looked into each other´s eyes …

On the Edge Anna Garashchuk Anna was born in Jabarovsk, Russia. She was part of the Doctorate Programme for economy by the University of Málaga and has published an article on European and Asian economy. She is currently taking her C1 English at EOI Málaga. He was roaming the streets alone inhaling the freshness of the night and listening to the silence where the noise of big city life was supposed to be. The full moon was shining brightly and he checked out every corner in search of shelter. Actually, he would prefer pitch darkness, which would hide him from the gazes of the passers-by and provide him with confidence and protection. Being tall and slim, in his early forties, with an innocent smooth face, short black hair and wide open ocean blue eyes, he looked like a teenager rather than a selfmade grown man. Even though his entire adult life he had struggled against prejudice and injustice with all his might, that day, exhausted, he decided to keep himself aloof from all concerns. In spite of being in the habit of smoking, he found himself unable to pull the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. The thing he regretted most was the fact that he had sacrificed himself for a pipe dream. He was just on a wild goose chase. The cold gusty wind was tickling his pale face and mocking him with biting irony. The moonlight was bothering him, practically making him weepy. Honestly, it was not easy at all to admit to himself that he had failed in all aspects of his life: in love, in friendship and even professionally in his creative work. Although he was ill at ease among the grey gloomy skyscrapers, in his desperate attempt to bring himself to forget all those disgusting things which had happened to him, he continued his way along those faceless ghosts, sipping from the overpriced bottle of whiskey. Meanwhile, the shadow of the past seemed to pursue him. He had no choice but to start a new life; however, he was unable to. Gone were the days when he sauntered up and down the same streets with her, savouring the tenderness of the moonlit night. While the gentle summer wind was playing with her curly hair, he composed poems about her. She smiled. The thing he wished most was to forget that cunningly charming smile. Deep in thought, he started crossing the bridge, covered with a multitude of tiny diverse padlocks which had been hung by couples in love as a symbol of their true affection and eternal devotion a long while ago. Then something went

off in his brain. He abruptly stopped in the middle of the bridge, feeling a deep pang of regret, and looked down with sorrow. The water seemed to be so murky. “The river is like her dark soul," he gasped while leaning against the railing. “Oh no! Her soul must be dirtier than this river!” he cried. The first sunbeams fell on the water surface and he could barely make out tiny fish playing with each other. “The fish still live in this swamp,” he grinned, shrugging his shoulders. He remembered her gorgeous face, her delicate body, her deep mysterious gaze, all the senseless words which she had told him in that fateful evening, her despicable lie, her poor excuse, her unforgivable infidelity. Never had he felt so violently humiliated and desperate. It seemed he did not care any more whether to live or to die. He was about to throw himself off the bridge when he suddenly came to his senses. Barely standing on his feet, he looked down once again. “Why should I fling myself into the dirty river? Don’t worry, darling, I will never do you this favour,” he whispered hatefully and laughed with all his might. The sun was rising slowly behind the ancient temple. The whole city was bathed in the light. The sunbeams seemed to be everywhere, and even the river looked cleaner in that full-of-hope morning. “What a beautiful cityscape!” he thought. “Anyway, the river isn’t to blame, it is we who pollute it,” he added mentally. Despite not being superstitious, he flung a coin into the water and made a wish, which had already come true without his knowing it. Then he finished the half-empty bottle of whisky with one gulp and thought, “It must be dangerous to drink so much, especially when you are on the edge. Never again!” He immediately bounced off the edge of the bridge like a scared jackrabbit and continued his way, swaying. At that very moment he felt a sense of relief. The will to live overflowed his heart. The ghost of the past left him alone at last. He looked at the lavish wristwatch she gave him on their last anniversary. In spite of being severely inebriated, he managed to read ‘6:13 am’ on the digital sensor screen. It was time to start a brand new life … life without her.

The Jewel Mª Ángeles López Gómez Mª Ángeles was born in Aguilar de la Frontera (Córdoba) in 1962. She took a degree in Teaching and now works as a support teacher in a school. A passionate reader, among her favourite authors she includes Bukowski and Cortázar. This is the second time she publishes a story, being her first time last year with her short story entitled “Before Forgetfulness” Since you left, my hands have not touched the strings of my guitar, now abandoned to the rust of time and disuse. Unlike before when their sounds emerged from clumsy, beginners´ self-taught fingers determined to make them come to life, even with only seven chords, to find melodies that didn´t want to remain unfinished. Words filling our heads and hearts, avid to escape the fingertips through the pen to the paper, do you remember? The smell of then, the smell of life, that clean air that hurt our noses when we breathed, the intensity of aromas and tastes, the strength of our spring and summer, the fresh sweet tone of voice, everything went away with you. We used to sleep outdoors, marvelling at those millions of stars twinkling in the firmament above on dark nights, seeking constellations and shooting stars until exhaustion overcame us, whispering promises for the future on the long leisurely hikes under the warm pale light of the full moon. Hand in hand we climbed the rocks and mountains with no fear of vertigo, and leapt into the rivers and seas letting the wind effortlessly sway us. We ran barefoot on the cobblestones, fleeing a hundred bolted grey horses surrounding the square where our voices had been weaving peace songs which went flying over the horizon towards freedom. It was there that we discovered how vital it is to possess a touch of madness in order to survive. It was back then, when we still had everything ahead of us, that we fought against centaurs and dinosaurs - just to see the mirage of liberty without boundaries vanishing as we approached. Together, we were able to walk the wire and keep our balance. Friendship was true for us. Our friends in common, with whom we managed to make everything right, are still our friends. With you, sorrow was mild and illusion intact, we believed in humankind and we walked across the world feeling it was ours. We dreamed that there was willingness to solve the flaws. It should not have been possible for insanity to win with such impunity. That was not admissible in our dream. One day, a machine containing the wisdom of all the sages would calculate how many houses were necessary to be built, how much bread was needed every day in the world, how many taps in Africa. The army´s main functions would be organisation, teaching self-management and assisting in natural catastrophes. No one would be evicted from their jungles, their rivers, their beaches, and when the machine warned us, we would control the birth rate.

We could make our living, we did not conceive of a more worthy way to live, everybody loved their jobs. The school went to the children and they went to the street and parks to play. The towns had more animals and trees than cars and roads, and they were small enough to make it possible to cover them on foot, avoiding wasting time coming and going. We had the best trains in the world and they took us everywhere and there were no borders. We proudly defended that nobody should judge anyone if they had not walked in their shoes. Both men and women were good for all living things. We strongly believed we were wasting our lives by searching for gods, whereas in fact God is simply the miracle of life. But there will not be happy and busy mornings anymore, you and I both wrapped in our music and our household chores, nor afternoons of brushes bringing colour to black and white, nor nights of reader and writer insomnia. Your absence lets me know it is only the hard way that we learn anything. And the more intense the pain is, the more it teaches us. Value every moment, enjoy the little things, sing aloud and express everything you have time for. Nothing lasts forever in life and she tells me so every day. Not so long ago, barely a few months, I still wrote to you in the present tense. And even so, I constantly see myself in you, feeling you alive now on radiant days like those without a look of bitterness. I can see myself in you by bringing you to my hands in every caress, in every new daily attempt. And I can see you exploding everywhere when I gaze at them, in their long, abundant luminous hair, in the softness of their new skin, as ephemeral as then, as always, without me knowing it, without them being aware that you belong to them. Precious youth, true rare jewel of life, you are not gone, you never did. You settled in me so as to keep us both alive.

Alone Guillermo Segura Picón Our youngest contestant by far, Guillermo was born in Málaga in 2002 and is currently at High School. Among his hobbies he likes Maths, music, writing and travelling. He also loves reading fantasy and science fiction novels and this is his first time to enter the Short Story Competition. “It’s called Fenn’s disease, “the doctor stated its causes, yet unknown, and the fact that it was the object of research and speculations for the best scientists out there. “But, I mean, “I couldn’t find the right words, “what will happen to him?” “As far as I know, the person loses, progressively, all of their five senses,” at first I couldn’t understand at all. “You know, taste, smell, touch, sight and hearing. Step by step, he’ll become unable to react to the world surrounding him.” I certainly wished the doctor hadn’t been so concise with his explanation. I could feel the world falling apart silently, in a way that could not be described with

words. As soon as I could turn my head to the left I realized I wasn’t the only shocked person in the room: my brother was on the verge of tears, so I decided to continue the conversation myself before he had to. “Is there any…?” “Unfortunately, there is no known method to cure Fenn’s disease,” the doctor responded to the question I was about to ask without even hearing it. However, he uttered the answer we definitely didn’t want to hear. As the doctor’s words came out of his throat my face turned white and so did Luke’s. We stared at each other for a couple of seconds before bursting into tears, knowing the horrible fate our father would face. The doctor handed us a box with tissues and restarted his ominous speech: “Although Fenn’s disease will not lead to his death directly, if someone cannot feel anything at all, you know…” Luke couldn’t stand such a detailed description. He stood up and, visibly furious, got out of the room. Even though I certainly would have loved to leave as well, slamming the door, somehow I was brave enough to ask: “How much time does he have left?” “We don’t know… it could be a week or two, it’s unpredictable.” That was the last straw. Nothing in life was more frightening to me than losing my father in such a dreadful way, with such a short time left with him. There was still so much I had to tell him. I got out of the room and found Luke waiting for me in the corridor. None of us uttered a word on our way back home but for a deadly, hopeless whisper, as I left him by his house minutes later. At home, Dave wanted me to tell him what had happened, but I didn’t. Instead, I went straight to bed trying not to think about how dad was not going to see Dave and me getting married. My father was a good man: he just wanted to lend others a hand when necessary. He had been devastated since Mom passed away, but right when he was starting to feel better, he was struck by the loss of all sense of taste. That had been the beginning of his disease. Luke and I had always had such a close relationship with our dad. When we were younger, he would come home from work with sweets and play with us, even though he had loads of work to be done. He provided us with all the love a couple of children like us needed. The doctors decided my dad had to stay in the hospital for his own safety. I arrived there the following day, at sunrise, to look after him. He was inexplicably cheerful when he saw me opening his room door, even though he had been told about Fenn’s disease as much as I had. To be honest, it was the first time in months I saw him smile. I had to hold back the tears for the second time in a row. I brought him food, despite the fact that he couldn’t taste it, and a couple of books for him to read

while I couldn´t be there with him. Our conversation lasted for hours, until I had to leave to get some stuff done for work. However, I found the time to talk to Luke, because I felt we both needed it. As soon as I arrived home, I called him. His voice sounded so distant, in a way that it could hardly be heard. He talked about some American scientist he had contacted the night before, claiming that their team had developed a possible cure for Fenn’s disease. Although it was still undergoing a trial phase, Luke had been offered to buy a sample of it but he couldn’t afford it since he had no job. In any case, Luke had caught a plane to the US and was ready to find money at any cost. I couldn’t afford it either: Dave was still looking for a job and my salary was barely enough for both of us. I had a huge argument with Luke on the phone, and we both said things we’ve been regretting ever since. The following days went by as it was foreseen: three days after the diagnosis, Dad completely lost his vision, and by the end of that week, he had lost his ability to smell. “At least I can still hear you,” he told me when I visited him, which I did every day, trying to calm me down. It had been 12 days in agony when Dad’s skin became insensitive. His audition was the only thing that still pulled us together. “I’m alright,” he promised. “I’ll be alright.” Then, five days later, Dad told me he couldn’t hear me as well as he could before. Then I realized it was over. I held his hand while, in tears, I heard him say “I already miss you.” At that exact moment, Luke burst into the room, with a suitcase and a filthy tracksuit. Nervously, he asked: “Is he alive?” I just couldn’t answer. Luke understood my silent response and realized his sample was late. Dad was there, but nothing existed for him anymore.

Once upon a Time Ana Belén Ponferrada Conejo Ana Belén was born in Málaga in 1981. She loves travelling, reading and spending time with her family and friends. She holds a degree in Translation and Interpreting and works as a French and English teacher. At that moment, the clock stopped ticking just for me. Insignificant but beautiful images came to my mind like quick snapshots stored in my soul: a flock of birds dancing capriciously upon the blue sky, a full moon bathing the Pyrenees in silver light or the magical, breathtaking Rota beach sunset. And there I was, petrified and confused, looking at myself in the toilet mirror. I was asking myself how it could be possible for a language teacher to get through such a difficult time, not being able to find the right words to translate what the doctor had just announced me. Despite having spent a good hour explaining the situation patiently, suggesting all sorts of preventive measures and

psychosocial therapies to face it, I could not remember a single healing word. I wanted to cry but I couldn’t. I felt cold as I had never felt before, and a frosty shiver ran through my body. I closed my eyes tight for a moment hoping that it was just a horrible nightmare what I was living, wishing that the fairy godmother turned this nightmare into a fairy tale. But it wasn’t. It was as real as life itself. All of a sudden, I realized the bitter truth. Not only was I supposed to assume the unknown and undesirable enemy which would be present in my daily life from now on but also, I had to think ahead what I would need to do to be prepared and organised. I barely knew anything about Alzheimer’s disease. According to scientists, it is considered a chronic neurodegenerative disease that usually starts slowly and worsens over time. Not surprisingly, the most common early symptom is the short-term memory loss. But as the disease draws on, symptoms can include problems with language or disorientation. At that moment I understood that I needed to have a plan. Plans had always helped me to make important decisions. I thought about my family and I felt the world crumbling down over me. How could I explain to my six-year-old that her mum was going to forget him progressively? How could he understand that her mum, who had taught him to speak English and French, would probably become unable to recall her own language? “Life is so hard and unfair,” I had told him so many times when he had refused to confront his fears. Now, it was my turn to be as brave as the heroine of his favourite fairy tale.

A Sea between Us Encarnación María Jiménez Martín Encarnación is a passionate lover of foreign languages; she has taken a degree in Translation and Interpreting by the University of Málaga and speaks English, Greek, French, German and Japanese. She is now taking her C1 in English. She loves visiting foreign countries and that is why travel literature is among her favourite genres. In 1995, she was awarded a prize in the Short Story Competition in Greek, organized by the EOI Málaga to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the School (19701995) To Irini, my source of inspiration The bustling harbour was an omen for a hard working day. Hordes of passengers were waiting for the ship that lovely sunny morning of January, many of them longing for a better life. I was in the middle of the crowd waiting for my turn. The stout man in front of me with dark hair, bushy eyebrows and a droopy moustache reminded me of where I was. Bags everywhere and a smell of fresh coffee in the air. A few months before I had made a wish for the New Year. I promised myself to come back to see her. For the last twenty years we have been keeping in touch with a handful of letters, phone calls and more recently with all sorts of virtual messages. When I asked her if she had something to do in the second fortnight of the month, she anticipated my intentions.

I have never effaced the nice memories of that summer in Crete, the people I met, the places I visited and the things I learnt. I remember the bright light of the sun, the cloudless blue sky, the crystal clear water of the pebbly beaches in the south of the island and the landscapes at dusk. The homemade food, plain and tasty, and the cultural heritage of ancient times. I still wear the silver ring with the turquoise stone that I found in an open air market. The main street was full of tourists at midday. I stopped for a moment at a stall and I stared at it. I liked the combination of the grey metal and the tinge of the Mediterranean. I tried it on and I bought it. The ship was leaving in an hour and I was still queueing up to leave the luggage. SuddenIy, I grew more and more concerned by the idea of remaining in the noisy city and missing an important part of my dream. I took a deep breath, I tried to calm down and only good thoughts came to my mind. I have imagined how the reunion would be several times. I have made up a lot of conversations with her family, including her children, whom I did not know, I have found myself walking through the streets of the same village that I visited a long time ago, talking to strangers and drinking a hot tea in a cosy cafeteria. We had many things to share, a lot of questions to answer and countless stories to tell around a table, things that could not be shared via mail. I left the bag on the belt and I got my ticket. I went to the upper deck looking for the peace and quiet that the immensity of the sea and the hues of blue procure. The lovely cool breeze caressed my face. There was only a sea between Irini and me. The chants of the sirens set sail to Peace.

N.B. The Greek female name Irini means Peace.

I was There Maria Pilar Marín Ruiz Born in 1968, Mª Pilar works in the tourist sector. Last year she participated in this contest but did not get published. Among her hobbies she likes the cinema, reading and studying foreign languages. It was six o´clock in the morning when the alarm clock woke me up with a jolt. I generally like to laze about for ten more minutes before having a shower, but not that day. It looked just like another ordinary day, but I knew that it was going to be special. I struggled into my best suit and took a taxi straight to the airport. Fortunately, the weather was mild, not a single cloud in the sky and I soon arrived there. I dropped off my luggage and went to the meeting point where my new boss would be waiting for me. I felt really lucky because not everybody had this opportunity, though I was about to leave my dear Málaga, where I had been

brought up. Now I was sitting on that plane and the bubbly flight attendant was in the aisle pestering us for our breakfast order. Two hours later, the plane landed safely in Paris and we headed directly to the penthouse where the publisher was based. My boss, Stacy, introduced me to all my workmates and showed me to my office. Through the window, there were wonderful views of Paris. I could see the Eiffel Tower and appreciate all the hustle and bustle of city life. I thought it was going to be the perfect place to write my next book. Stacy, a sophisticated, elegantly dressed publisher, and a person to be reckoned with, had hired my services after reading my last short story written for a contest in the Language School. She offered me the opportunity to continue my fledgling career as a writer in a well-known publisher in Paris, ‘The Parisien’, and now I was there ready to immerse myself in an unknown world of adventure. I felt very self-confident despite my youthful twenty-four years and the fact that I had finally been offered my dream job. After having a look around my office, we made our way to my new apartment, which had been rented for me by my company. It was very cute, but surprisingly,it had only one bedroom, just enough for one person. The best part of all was the terrace, full to the brim of pots overflowing with flowers of many different colours. From the balcony, I was able to see the river, the majestic Seine. At that moment, I realised that I missed the Mediterranean Sea, but I was glad because I would be able to gaze at that river instead. Another good thing was that it would take me only fifteen minutes to walk to the office from the apartment in spite of living in one of the biggest cities in Europe. A miracle, some people might say. That evening, I was wandering around my neighbourhood looking for a supermarket to fill my empty fridge when, suddenly, I bumped into one of my best friends, Anne. A few years ago, she had married Pierre and had been living there since then. Theirs was a real love-story, not like the ones that you read in those silly romantic novels. They had fallen in love when she was working in a tiny bar in Málaga and he was on holiday. We went to have a drink, to take the opportunity to chat about ourselves for a while. Out of the blue, we heard an awful high-pitched scream coming from the river. Somebody had toppled into the freezing water and was being swept along by the fast-moving current. From the top of the bridge, we could see a woman running away as fast as her legs could carry her. The victim was badly-injured and unfortunately couldn´t be saved. He passed away fifteen minutes later, on his way to the hospital despite the doctors’ best efforts to save his life. My friend went crazy when she realised that man was Pierre. She couldn´t believe it. She broke down in tears and suffered a panic attack. Later, we were told that some witnesses confirmed that an unknown woman had pushed him into the river. An investigation would be launched to find the murderer. On hearing the suspect´s description, I felt horrified because, although I didn´t know anybody in Paris, it sounded familiar. Anyway, it could only be a coincidence and I had to be wrong.

I spent the night with Anne comforting her and the next morning I arrived at my office totally devastated. Stacy somehow seemed a little strange, her facial expression was different, she looked as if she hadn´t slept a wink the previous night and I started to suspect her. So, I convinced her to go to the bathroom to freshen up a bit. Just when she was out of sight, I took advantage to check her handbag looking for some sort of clue. I didn´t believe it when I found a picture of Pierre and Stacy torn up into pieces. Without a moment’s hesitation, I called the police. To my surprise, they found out they had been lovers for one year. However, Pierre didn´t want to continue their relationship, making her extremely jealous and unable to stand the fact that he was going to abandon her, as he had realised he was still madly in love with his wife. My friend and I decided to come back to Málaga together. I would continue writing short stories on my own while she would spend some time with her family. Thanks to them and her friends, she was able to overcome the terrible loss of her husband and his infidelity. In fact, we remained in touch and I knew that eventually she would fall in love again. As for me, that unfortunate death would be the start of my success as a crime-writer. In case you’re wondering, Stacy ended up in prison where she learnt her lesson.

The Knight of the Grail Fernando Villodres Núñez Born in Malaga in 1998, Fernando is taking his first year in Chinese at EOI Málaga. Most of the books he has read belong to the fantasy genre. He is taking up reading poetry. This is his first short story ever to be published.

Many years had passed. Years of training, fighting, good deeds and feats. Years of following the very noble code of chivalry. Years of searching for the greatest honour a knight of the realm could hope for. All these years weighed heavily on the knight’s back. The man who was waiting for him at the entrance of the cave was totally covered with a suit of armour decorated with a plant motif. But the most iconic symbol on it was the grail with a rose in its chalice. The paladin had a great sword, with a green blade and an embellished pommel. He had heard the rumours. Tales of paladins, knights appearing from nowhere to mentor those who started their quest for the grail, only to vanish very quickly into thin air. The knight wondered if the warrior before him was the one he had noticed on some occasions before. “You have been called. Put your hand on my shoulder and do not stop,” pronounced the knight at the entrance of the cave. “I will do as you order,” replied the horseman.

The knight laid his hand on the paladin’s shoulder. Then, they accessed the cave. The knight went totally blind, for he couldn’t see in the blackness of the cave. But the paladin walked like he could see in the dark or maybe he had just memorized the path? The knight decided not to analyse the issue too much. For the knight, this journey through the cavern was lasting an eternity. “How long before we reach our destination?”he thought. When he was younger, the knight was very impatient and impulsive. If his younger self had been with the paladin at that moment, he would have asked how much time left there was several times. Then, the paladin halted and the knight stopped just in time not to hit him. It was still dark and the knight wondered if the paladin didn’t know where to go. Suddenly, the paladin muttered some words. There was a noise and the darkness of the cave was replaced by a faint light. The knight realised that the paladin had stopped because of a wall, which was the camouflaged exit of the dark cavern. The outside was surrounded by towering trees, covering the sky. He followed the paladin into the woodland. “These trees must be taller than castles,” thought the knight. Moments after, the route led them to a point where he could discern mountains in the background. “I am sure that you will be amazed with what you are about to see,” declared the paladin. The knight was not sure if this would prove true to him. But when they reached that particular point, the knight was indeed amazed by what he saw: a beautiful forest was ahead of the duo. The paladin remained silent, wanting for the knight to witness the purity of the place. The knight noticed that there weren’t any houses in the forest. “This place must have remained untouched for millennia,” he muttered to himself. Looking around, he realised that the forest was in a valley, for it was surrounded by tall impregnable mountains. But the most astounding thing about the forest was a giant tree in the middle. It surpassed the ones that the knight and the paladin had left back. “This is the passage that will make us go down into the forest,” pointed the paladin. “Indeed it will,” replied the knight. When they reached the entrance of the forest, the paladin came to a halt. “We have to rest,” he suggested. Both of them sat down under a tree which was at the side of the entrance. They remained silent until a question was asked to the knight. “Why did you decide to search for the grail?” The knight was surprised. Not by the question, but because the paladin was eager to have some talking.

“I started my quest because I wanted fame. When I see myself back in the day when I chose to initiate my pilgrimage I feel troubled, because it was not a noble belief,” the knight related. “What changed?” questioned the paladin. “After travelling for some time, I realised that I was making a fool of myself by pursuing such aim. In the end, I decided that the grail was not as important as my pilgrimage.” The knight answered. The paladin, who had remained silent during the narration, suddenly rose up. “We have to continue our journey,” he said. The knight got up from his seat too and followed the paladin. The forest showed the knight its wonders, for it was filled with flowers, birds and insects. He would have loved to stay for more time, but he couldn’t forget the reason why he was there. The paladin and the knight arrived at the colossal tree, which had an opening. “We’ve arrived. Now we only need to enter,” said the paladin. In its interior there was a font. The paladin approached it and stood at its right side. He raised his right hand and a green light appeared on it. The light started to take the form of a grail. When the grail was completed, the light disappeared. With a quick move, he filled it with the water from the font. “All your hardships and actions of your journey have granted you this very moment. Now, come, for the grail awaits.” The knight approached and took the grail. He hesitated and, after taking a deep breath, he drank the water of the grail and… He woke up in his tent. The morning birds could be heard. “It was all a dream,” the knight said to himself. Still dizzy, he opened his tent. “It’s…” gasped the knight. There it was, in front of his tent, awaiting him: a grail with a rose in its chalice. “You are one of us now” said a familiar voice in his head.