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, 2016-17, the first prize has been awarded to Miriam Fernández Simón for the story Tea with Mrs. Rees, María Isabel Gómez Arroquia has been the runner up with Fall, while Lucía López Alcaide has come in third with Light. The three of them will also be published in SUR in English. This year we also include an acrostic poem that a student, Natalia Colubeva, wrote to commemorate Thanksgiving Day, thanking the school in Málaga and its teachers for their dedicated work.
MARTIRICOS Nº 16 – MAY 2017 Panel of judges of XVI Malaga E.O.I. Short Story Contest Cristina Herrero Murciano, Marta Moreno López de Uralde, Rosana Arjona Pérez, Encarni Serrano Reina, Rosa Mª Serrano Sánchez, Blanca Lara González, Antonio Cortés Gómez, Carmen Elena Sánchez Osorio, Mª Victoria Santana Moreno, Mª Dolores Ruiz García, Amaya Alonso Fernández, Patricia Vargas-Machuca Casas and Sur in English Proofreader: Manuel Castaño Edititor in chief: Manuel Castaño. Editorial design layout: Pedro Riquelme Moral Internet Edition: Marta Perles: www.eoimalaga.com Cover: Pedro Riquelme Moral Cover Painting: George Kowzan 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 1
Contents Miriam Fernández Simón.................Tea with Mrs. Rees................3 María Isabel Gómez Arroquia...........Fall........................................5 Lucía López Alcaide..........................Light.....................................6 Charo Martínez Ortega......................No Matter the Odds..............7 Fernando José Partida Sepúlveda......War never Changes...............9 Victoria Pavón Molero.......................Jasmine................................11 Mª Ángeles López Gómez.................Before Forgetfulness...........13 Jorge López de Ahumada Gámez......The Emotions of Today.......15 Gustavo Jiménez Miralles................. Good Night, Good Luck.....17 Irene García Fernández………….….My Soul in Tears.................18
2
Tea with Mrs. Rees
Miriam Fernández Simón Born in Almería, Miriam moved to Málaga, where she took a degree in Journalism. She is now writing her thesis. She is passionate about both communication and design. She admits that she has always dreamed of being a writer and she has also had the chance to get some short stories published as the winner of past literary competitions in Almería. Lowri Rees was standing with her back towards the gas stove. Outside, the inhospitable Welsh winter had frozen the field and threatened with misting up the windows. However, inside, the vapour of what Lowri was cooking warmed the kitchen. “I’m so glad you are here, after all,” she said with a smile. “A long time has passed since I last had a guest for days.” Eirwen, a cat as white as snow, got in the room and walked between Lowri’s legs. She saw, with loving eyes, how Eirwen came closer to the guest. The cat, purring, stroked the sleeve of the jacket with her tail. “She likes you!” Lowri said chucklingly. The teapot started whistling while the cups were being prepared on the kitchen table. “Actually, it’s quite difficult for Eirwen to like someone,” she said serving the tea. “In that, she reminds me of myself. I usually don’t get along with people. But my animals...” She sighed, “Oh, my dear creatures! I don’t know what I’d be without them.” She finished serving and took a seat in front of the guest. “So, tell me, is there any worried wife wondering about your whereabouts?” She smiled and looked steadfastly at him, waiting for an answer that never came. “I got married once,” a thoughtful Lowri finally said. She took a short sip of her drink. “It didn’t work. It turned out that he wasn’t made for me. Or I’m not made for anyone, most likely. In any case, my husband was uninspiring, anodyne. A conformist, just happy with a grey life, whereas I’ve always been a dreamer.” Meanwhile, Eirwen jumped onto the table and drank from the man’s tea. Lowri seemed not to realize that. “I abandoned him. After two years of marriage, one day I simply left. I could be a widow and not know... Wait! he could think he’s the widower himself!” She giggled. “Eventually, I bought this house”, she said cheerfully, opening out her arms. “Before my marriage, I went to university for one year, where I studied nursing. I never got to finish, but with that and books, I got by to learn veterinary rudiments. Since then, I’ve been taking care of all the animals I’ve found, trying to help them and giving them a home. I’ve been doing this for nearly fifty years.” At that moment, as if he could understand her, Merlin, an elderly Border Collie, entered hobbling. He looked tenderly at Lowri and placed his head on her lap, wagging his tail. “I provide them with food and shelter,” she said stroking the dog. “And here we are. Thirty minutes by car to the nearest house. Mine is a lonely life...” She whispered. “Oh! I told you Merlin’s a sweetheart,” she said, absorbed in her thoughts. “I rescued him three months ago. He had been abandoned by a heartless bastard when he began 3
to age. I found him in a terrible condition, with a nasty infection in his leg which ended up in a noticeable limp.” Lowri took Merlin’s head and looked into his eyes, smiling. The dog licked her cheek. “He’s still recovering. He didn’t want to bite our guest, did you, sweetie?” she asked Merlin. “Of course not,” she answered. “It was an accident. The normal reaction of a dog who has been stepped on. As for you... You shouldn’t have done that,” she said slowly and angrily, still holding the animal’s head. “You shouldn’t have hit him,” she said, more and more enraged. “I requested you to stop, and you continued and continued beating him up AND I REQUESTED YOU TO STOP!” Lowri yelled, punching the table, glaring at the man’s face. The cat, lying down on the table, got startled and hid behind the guest’s hand, near his cup of tea. Lowri was breathing heavily. “Anyway”, she said, trying to calm down. “The meat must be cooked already.” Lowri gulped the rest of her tea, which, by then, was unpleasantly cold. “Let’s get this over with”. She stood up and went to the gas stove, where there was a large saucepan. Lowri took the lid off. “Look at that! It seems delicious,” she exclaimed, stirring the meat. “Look how easily the meat detaches off the bone,” she said while carving the food, helped by a fork. “I’ll save it up. This will be good to feed my animals.” She offered Merlin a piece, who tasted it. “You know what? You’re an awful talker”, she expounded while she grabbed the biggest cooking pot she could find. Lowri filled it up with water and put it to boil. “I am truly sorry for what happened. I don’t want you to think I am ungrateful,” she said honestly, moving her hand to her chest. She looked really sorry. Lowri got closer to the man and smiled tenderly. “But cheer up! I appreciate your work here. The tap runs perfectly and, I promise, nothing will be wasted.” Lowri heard the water starting to boil. “But whoever abuses animals is no longer a human being.” She took the man’s head, which had been shaved and had the sockets empty. “I haven’t talked this much to another person for years,” she said with her eyes fixed on the place where his eyes once were. “So, thank you,” she added solemnly. “If you hadn’t come,” Lowri carefully put the head down, “I would have lost my mind...” she said covering the pot “sooner or later.”
4
Fall
Mª Isabel Gómez Arroquia A native of Cádiz, Mª Isabel is an archaeologist by profession. She has taken a degree in Geography and History, specialising in Pre-history and Archaeology. Among her long list of favourite authors she includes Roald Dahl, Edgar Allan Poe, Thomas Malory, Alfred Tennyson, W. B. Yeats and W.H. Auden. This is her first short story ever to be published. We had been driving for five hours when we caught a glimpse of a small historic inn and decided to stop. That Saturday morning, we had set off very early to avoid traffic jams on our annual leaf-peeping October trip from New York City to Vermont. Every year on our wedding anniversary, for almost ten years now, we had been doing this foliage driving tour. The landscape around us was incredibly full of fiery reds, deep oranges and bronze yellow maple and oak leaves which, blowing in the wind, were performing a peaceful and incredibly magical ballet… As Albert Camus wrote, “Fall is a second spring when every leaf is a flower…” When we got out of the car and I could finally have a full view of a charming nineteenth century-style country inn frontage that looked slightly familiar to me. As soon as we checked in, we went for a long walk around. I was lost in my thoughts when all of a sudden, Holden, who had been extremely quiet during the whole walking trip, suggested that we should get back because the sun was going down. After a quick shower, we had a romantic meal at a table by the fireplace and we exchanged gifts. I was given an extraordinary golden maple leaf bracelet. I was so delighted and still madly in love with him that I could hardly breathe. We finally went to sleep late, talking about everything and nothing at all. When I woke up the next day he was gone, though. At first, I thought he would be having breakfast somewhere or taking a stroll. However, after two hours looking for him I was completely and absolutely terrified and I decided to ask the receptionist to call the police. She just looked at me and, in a very soft and sympathetic voice told me, “Miss Cauldfield, when you checked in last night you were alone like every time since you have been coming here for the last five years”. She was obviously kidding me. “For God’s sake, please call the police!” I uttered in anguish. After waiting nervously for almost an hour, I desperately broke down into tears while sitting on an old armchair in the cosy and now too familiar lounge. Besides, I was surrounded by people who were looking at me in a creepy weird way, full of compassion and understanding. When the police officer came in, he simply said “Again, Miss Caulfield? last year you promised it´d be the last time. Do you remember me? I found you five years ago when you had a car crash three miles away from here, your husband... your husband died in that accident, do you remember…?” He continued telling me a strange story that I couldn´t believe, I was only able to stare at my golden maple leaf bracelet, which didn´t look as brand-new and shiny as the night before. In fact, it seemed rather worn out. “Don´t worry, we have already phoned your doctor and he is going to pick you up... As usual”.
5
Light
Lucía López Alcaide Lucía was born in Málaga in 1986 and is currently taking her English B2 at EOI Málaga. A lab technician working for the Andalusian Health Service, she is keen on watching films in English, reading and travelling. A really passionate writer and one of our regular participants so far, she took part in this competition last year with her story What if...? and won the competition two years ago with her story entitled Two Words. And suddenly I start to hear something. Somebody is calling me unceasingly, somebody repeats my name once and again with a heartbreaking voice, full of anguish and despair. That person is touching my face with something strange. It is not human skin; the touch feels stiff, kind of artificial. I can barely understand those words but, eventually I recognize the voice, surrounded by many sounds in the room. It’s him, yes, it is. My love. He is trying hard to wake me up. He opens my eyelids and looks at my pupils with a tiny lantern to see how I react to the light, requesting an answer. After everything has been done and they have finished stabilizing me, Mark kneels by my still body, begging me to come back and stay with him. I can hear him, I can feel him, but I can’t move, I can’t speak… I can do nothing! After many tests, my family arrives. They all cry. Mark explains the situation down to the last detail. He is going to try his best to keep me alive until the end. He is going to do everything possible. I’m not sure how long I’ve been this way, but there’s always someone next to me. Sometimes my mother remains sitting near my body, which lies motionless, caressing my face, my hands and my belly. Some other times Mark stands by me. Every time he walks through the door he cries. He rests his face near mine as if trying to avoid losing me; he is too much in love to let me go. He spends here most nights, whispering that lights will guide me home, igniting my bones, and that he will try to do everything possible to fix me. As time goes by visitors become more and more scarce. I notice it when Mark appears in the distance noiselessly. Tears come streaming down his face. But instead of getting closer to me, he remains standing next to the door, heartbroken, because not only can he not bear being unable to help me, but also feeling that he is losing something that he will never be able to replace. From time to time he gathers his courage to come close, take my hand and rub the sheet on my trunk gently without uttering a word. Time. Everything is a matter of time. Like love. Love is a matter of time. A person cannot love another if it goes to waste, as the torment would turn a blissful person into the most wretched one. I’m aware of Mark’s mixed emotions. He possesses both the drive and eagerness to make it happen. What is going on now? They are moving me somewhere. There is a blinding light just over me, odd sounds and a distinct atmosphere. It’s sort of cold here. I’ve been changed out 6
of my bed which has accompanied me for so long and there are so many people around me. Maybe I’m undergoing some kind of surgery, maybe they’ve finally found the solution to my condition and I’ll escape from this prison miraculously. A baby bursts into tears. What? Is that a baby weeping? My mind is about to blow up. It’s my baby! I was pregnant all this time without being conscious. Mark places the baby between my breasts telling her with the most tender voice – “This is your mum my lovely girl, one day you will be as strong and beautiful as she is. Remember her for the rest of your life, ‘cause you are the light that she leaves on, before the light inside her goes out forever”And so, Mark holds my hand firmly, kisses my lips while his tears fall over my face and then I realise that it’s time to go.
No Matter the Odds
Charo Martínez Ortega
Charo was born in Bilbao in 1972. She has a degree in IT and currently works as a programmer and computer analyst. She is currently taking her English B2 at EOIMA. A dedicated reader, historical novels and whodunits are among her favourites. Among her other hobbies are also going to the cinema, watching TV series and travelling. This is her first story to be published. She would usually do some quick shopping at the local supermarket, not too much, just the things she needed for next day’s meals. But when it came to a big buy, involving heavy stuff, she would drive to the nearest shopping mall. And it was about time, since she had almost run out of milk and laundry detergent. She feared that day. She felt truly insecure while driving, but she had a rational way of thinking and she had drawn the conclusion that delaying that moment would only drag out the inevitable. So she got in the car and headed for the mall. As usual, she got mixed up and missed the right turn that would take her straight to the mall. While driving around, trying to get back on the right track, she entered a narrow street. She saw a double-parked car towards the end. She thought back to her days as copilot, when her ex-husband was the driver and how he would drive the car right through 7
the gap while she would close her eyes fearing for what it seemed to her as an inevitable crash. But not even a scratch was ever made to any car. She concluded that her mind miscalculated and that the car was either smaller or the gap larger, if not both. Convinced that the same rule applied every time and to everyone, she kept on driving without even attempting to slow down a bit. “Determination and showing no hesitation is the key, cars and laws of nature notice that,” she thought. But this time, she got a terrible fright when she heard a very loud crash that made her hit the brakes. She remained seated for a few seconds; she could feel her heart pounding really fast. When she finally calmed down a bit, she got out of the car and saw a young woman coming up to her rapidly while ranting at her. She apologized to her for the mess although she could not understand her anger; after all, she had double-parked leaving no room to pass through. “What did she expect?” she wondered. She did not have her insurance policy with her. They exchanged phone numbers and the outraged woman asked her to go to her lawyer’s office – he happened to be her boyfriend - to sort it all out as soon as possible. And so she did. Two days later, she was entering the lawyer’s office. It looked brand new and it was totally empty; even more, she felt as if no one else had ever set foot in there before. She recognized him straight away. They had been classmates throughout their school years. He was the cute guy, the one all the girls fell in love with. She did not remember having talked to him at school; she never dared to, apart from some “hello” once in a while. She was sure he would not recognize her and she was not going to bring it out, but still, she felt restless. The moment he saw her, he jumped to his feet and headed towards her as if he had seen his idol. She started to hesitate. “Maybe he knows who I am or more likely, he is really excited to see a client,” she thought. Against all odds, he said her name out loud!! She could not believe her ears. They went over every school anecdote they could remember, they told each other about other classmates’ lives that they knew something about and they wondered about some of those that they had lost track of. He even confessed to her that he kind of liked her in Sixth Grade. Just the sort of thing that can be confessed thirty years later. Oh God!! “had I known back then,” she thought, ….but then, on second thoughts, she realized she would not have dared to say a word to him either way. The unexpected arrival of a client pulled them abruptly from their entertaining chat. It almost made her feel they had been caught doing something they were not supposed to be doing, so she rushed out . He called her the next day. He wanted to see her again, continue their nice talk, he said. That was the first of many other dates to come. While in town, they always met at her place; he did not want to risk being seen by anyone. She understood from the very beginning what the situation was and she settled. He sometimes attended some workshops on different law matters out of town and they took those chances to spend some more time together and even go out for dinner. She was aware of the fact that every date could be the last and, as such, she enjoyed each and every one of them. She had decided to make the most out of it while it lasted. Although it did not prevent her from daydreaming that, during one of their encounters, he would tell her that he had dumped that conceited woman and that he wanted to stick with her for good. “Maybe too much to ask for,” she thought, “but hey! is not that what dreaming is all about?” 8
But this time, she could not beat the odds and, like some merciless blow of fate, their last date really became the last one. Days passed and her hope to get a phone call kept fading away until it totally disappeared. Later, she found out that he was marrying his pregnant fiancée and joining his father in law’s reputed law firm. Back to her old life, to her routine, maybe waiting and hoping for something to happen that would get her out of her dull life. In the meantime, another ride to the mall to buy the usual stuff, getting lost on the way again and, of course, as it could not be otherwise, a doubled-parked car in a narrow street. So, why not make something happen? Let’s see what the odds have to say.
War never changes
Fernando José Partida Sepúlveda Fernando was born in Málaga in 1994 and has a degree in Teaching. He has also completed his C1 Certificate in English and is currently taking his French B2 at EOI Málaga. A football and video game lover, this is his first short story ever to be published. It is the year 2063. Humanity is near its total destruction. The ideological differences between mechanised people and activists pro natural people are driving the governments to collapse. All you can watch in the news are bloody battles in which nobody is good or bad, nobody gains anything. But, how did we get here? Let´s go back to the past… 2030, the year marked by a new big step in the human being race. Here started the germ of the world’s end. Melancholically, I remember what it was supposed to bring: the promised date to get to Mars on a mission to extend our trace in the universe. Ironically, in a movement which would definitely push the space race, the official sale of NASA to Shinra -at that moment owner of Microsoft, Apple and the most important pharmaceutical companies- diverted all this technology to a new trendy project: the 9
development of biotechnology to build artificial body parts and organs. It sounded really good, the panacea, the accomplished dream for injured people, an opportunity to reach immortality. However, like everything that seems too good to be true, it finally turned out to be an illusion. Nevertheless, the two first decades after the union of NASA and Shinra surely meant the golden age of human history. With Shinra as Mega Corporation, science reached new limits. The promises came true, those who were blind were able to see, and those who couldn’t walk started to run with their astonishingly polished legs. Almost everyone changed their sadness for happiness during that temporary utopia. The whole Earth opened its frontiers as a sign of peace… but we made a mistake! As a sign of gratitude, governments all over the world gave representation and real power to Shinra. People, again, believed in false idols. As a consequence, by 2050 Shinra had taken control of the armies all over the world in a movement to fight against violence and maintain peace forever. The development of harder and stronger body parts made a difference between natural people and those who had implants, named mechanised people, who could run faster, jump higher and shift hundreds of pounds with their arms. The production of Phase 2 Body Parts started with expensive weapon-grade purposes, but once the production costs declined, the new implants reached normal people. First the rich, then the rest, everyone was able to buy Phase 2 products without medical purposes. Believers all around the world started a movement to claim our natural origin and the lack of values represented by those who had an implant, the mechanised people. However, at the same time, pro-augmentation groups started their own fight against natural people… As a result, collision was the only possible end. Day by day, week by week, a general anger developed. It started like any other problem. Like in the ‘good’ old days, what you heard in the news was clashes between different groups, people killing each other in little godforsaken countries… the usual thing, the unimportant day-to-day drama. But this time it was different. The first cases in Europe suddenly appeared. Kiev, Vienna, London, all thrown into chaos. Never will I forget the images of children jumping into the Thames escaping from the battle. Once chaos landed in Spain, the blue sky we had been famous for turned into the deepest grey I have ever seen. Almost everybody joined the battle, not only the radicals. Nobody paid attention to the TV since we were able to see the war through our windows. People killing, people dying, families destroyed… the struggle for survival. Now an uncertain future lies ahead of us. Water and electricity supplies have been cut off since nobody works there anymore. There are no people in the streets. The minority who survives is divided into two groups: those who are hidden away at the very end of the roads, in the middle of nowhere, feeling helpless and praying for a miracle, and those who try to hunt them down. Is this the end of time? Will we read something that is not already written? Will we watch a film which is not already made? I don´t have an answer, but I can assure this: the struggle for survival is a war without end, and war… war never changes.
10
Jasmine
Victoria Pavón Molero Victoria was born in Córdoba in 1995. She studied Translation and Interpretation at UMA in Málaga. She now works in El Corte Inglés. An animal lover, she enjoys practising sports –cycling and swimming-, reading and writing. This is her third short story being published. The fragrance of jasmine is something that is part of me. It is something that goes inside of me and arises through all the pores of my skin. I would like to forget that scent but it has followed me for so long that it is almost impossible to do so now. This smell is not nice for me but it is appreciated by others. I do not care; it caused me so much pain that I hate it. I want to run away from it but its memory tortures me all the time. For me, it is not sweet but bitter, unfair, painful. You may be asking how a simple essence can cause such feelings. Hang on a minute and you will know why this simple flower became a torture. Long time ago, I remember that my mum saved, with lots of love, the jasmine oil in a tiny purple bottle that my father gave to her. It was so small that it hardly fitted a spoon of that gold liquid but it emitted such an intense smell that only a drop was enough to perfume the whole room. My mum kept it as if it was a treasure. She used to put one of these little drops on for special occasions, such as when she invited somebody to drink tea at home or when she went to pray to the mosque and, how good she smelt! Those were good times, happy times that I miss now. Times in which the fragrance of jasmine made me remember my mother and not the suffering that years later it would cause on me. What a pity that happiness went away so soon! Life takes many a twist and turn. One day, my awakening marked the most important change that I was going to experience in my life. I went from sleeping in an Egyptian-style bed to waking up in a rigid, ice-cold floor of a lorry in which the smell was not nice. I was not alone, I was accompanied by more boys and girls my own age with lost gazes. Do not ask me how it all happened because I cannot explain it myself. I only remember that I fell asleep in my mother´s arms. The last beautiful memory I have of her. Since then, I have had no news of my family again but what never abandoned me was the fragrance of jasmine. From the lorry, I smelt that unique aroma which was familiar to me. I looked around. I thought that I was dirty but the children surrounding me were much worse than me. Suddenly, a rough voice ordered me to get out of the vehicle. They knew what they were supposed to do but I had no idea. I analyzed how the children went to their work, located in a big field full of bloomed jasmine bushes. It was already dark and ice-cold but the landscape was so beautiful… I stood still, isolated. I did not know what I could do there. Cry? Yes. That is what I wanted to do; to cry a loud cry but a shove in my back stopped the tear that was about to roll down my cheek. Where was I? I did not know. I was going with all those children but I did not know where to. All of them looked at me 11
but nobody dared to tell me anything, until a girl with light-coloured eyes looked at me and smiled. I clung to her smile, it was so cute! I got close to her and she told me what I had to do there; pick up those soft and tiny flowers with fruity smell. I looked at her small cracked hands, full of wounds. We became close friends and we worked in that field and in those circumstances, each one carrying a story on her back. We were soul sisters; we grew up alone and sad, but together. We told everything to each other, almost in silence because our bosses did not let us even breathe. Sometimes, we laughed and sometimes we cried. We missed our families. What had happened to them? I missed my mother so much. I would have offered my life to remain with her if I had been able to. As time went by, I grew thin and shabby, like all those children. I saw new faces that reacted in the same way as I did when I first set foot in that land. After that, they got accustomed to it. Getting accustomed was not an option; it was a must. In fact, it has been a long time since that. When I turned of age, I was not useful for that work any more and they threw me out. They abandoned and forgot me, I had nothing but I made a living. I finally understood that my tiny hands were just right to collect that soft whitish flower. We worked nights because it was then that the so called “earth starsâ€? were fresher. I also understood that life can be funny sometimes‌ How you could be on cloud nine today and, tomorrow, you might be going through true hell. I learnt to appreciate things that seemed to be insignificant but, at the same time, mean a lot. I learnt that human beings are able to put up with so much and life is a chess board where you are simply one of those chess pieces. Nailah, 1995.
12
Before forgetfulness
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 her first short story to be published. She saw it coming, so she wrote down the dates she had not set before forgetting. She organised her thousands of papers to prevent anyone from ever wondering if they were valid or what to do with them. She got rid of all the useless, give-away clothes, books and chattels, retaining only what recalled tenderness to her, memories of moments that now could stop being unforgettable, fragments of her life so vividly lived, so lovingly loved. She treasured among her thoughts, whispering never to leave, pictures of people and places that had left a mark on her soul. She intuited it. She ordered and classified all the photos she had been keeping in shoe boxes, sorting them into flower-patterned albums and commenting on each image that had saved the moment , when it was taken, who appeared, where they were, what they were doing... She gave her games and dolls to children, perfumes and beads to friends and sisters; she took to shelter her dog´s belongings, which she had been keeping in a chest since she left, in case they could be reused. She burned diaries full of pain, contemplating her worst words, her nasty thoughts becoming sinuous flames dancing in the fireplace and transcribing to her computer only what invited to love life, to live it. She was aware of the process. She had always wanted to be the joy of those around her and she had a feeling of not reciprocated farewells, a strong urge to leave her message and no time to put things right. “Enjoy life!”- her almond-shaped eyes seemed to be telling her. Underneath them, her luminous smile widened while looking for yours. Up until yesterday she had been a professor, a friend, a mother, a companion, a wise woman who had been looking for information that time when an aunt of hers was diagnosed. She could feel it. Where would be the words to say, her longing to learn, her projects to be done? Where would her naughty glances go, her roguish winks, her countenance serenity when watching the sunset on the horizon? What would be of her dreams without consciousness, her wings without freedom, her light beneath that lengthy darkness? She knew the meaning of every mistake and began to notice the advance of nothingness. The other day in the kitchen she was searching for salt in the cleaning cabinet and laughed at herself. And when she put her hand-cream on the toothbrush, she thought she was being very inattentive lately. Once, her friends came to visit her and she went into her room to show them..., “what the hell was she going to show them?” She locked herself in the bedroom because she was ashamed to leave without remembering what she had come for. Her friends had to go without saying goodbye. On another occasion, at a birthday party at home, she was caught eating black olives compulsively and when she was asked where she was laying the stones, she said that she first ate the olive and then swallowed the stone because she did not know what to do 13
with it. Or that painful first time she took her son Frank for a nephew of hers who had died in the war. “Hello, Daniel, long time no see!” she said suddenly jumping. But Frank could not answer and turned round to hide the uncontrollable tears that flooded his eyes, trying to wipe them away. Yes, she knew. It had already happened that one morning she appeared disheveled in her long white nightgown in the living room, barefoot and with outrageous thick red glossy lips, smiling and saying: “These beautiful lips have grown and I have painted them!” Her people could not stop laughing every time they gaped at her amusing face while taking care of her. She had eaten the suppositories and had an allergic reaction that almost killed her, but she looked so sadly lovable! Later, she had peeped them out of the corner of her eye, when they thought she could not see them sealing the medicine drawer, sticking yellow post-it notes all over the house, crouching down to check if all the gas and water mains were properly turned off after heating a glass of milk. One of those times when her family was driving her to the doctor’s, she felt as if she was walking through a deep, never-ending tunnel, a great black hole, a huge chasm. On the way back, she could not remember why she had been taken to the doctor’s and she asked them very calmly while she was looking out of the window, as if it was none of her business, “Who did the doctor say has Alzheimer’s?”
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The emotions of today Jorge López de Ahumada Gámez
A passionate of all literary genres, Jorge was born in Málaga in 1988. He took a degree in Journalism and is now seeking employment. This is his first short story to be published. Lázaro suddenly woke up from a disquieting nightmare. He dreamed that he was flying over the enormous and hostile buildings of an apparently uninhabited grey city when, unexpectedly, the skyline vanished and he started to nosedive crashing violently into the ground. Lázaro was a 29-year-old unemployed engineer. As cold as pessimistic, he was the kind of man that would keep quietly staring off into space during common conversations because of the inner silence of his atrophied social mind. As a result of this intolerable lack of communication skills, he had been forced to move back to his authoritarian and distant parents’ house after losing his last job. Lázaro only had a friend whom, unfortunately, he was in love with: Berenice, the girl he had met in the high school Literature lessons. He felt absolutely fascinated not only by her moving beauty, but also by her theatrical talent. They felt drawn to each other promptly thanks to their passion for books. Whereas Lázaro enjoyed existentialist novels, Berenice had a taste for the most bizarre love stories. He never thought he would desire that clever and naive girl so profoundly. The phone hologram emitted the sound of a noisy vibration and turned on. His agenda was reflected on the roof with red letters: “7.00 A.M. February 27TH. NOTHING PLANNED. Quote of the day: YOU CAN DO WHAT YOU LIKE. YOUR ACTIONS MAY NO DOUBT LEAVE DEEP FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW OUT THERE IN THE COURTYARD, BUT THEY'LL DO NOTHING MORE.The castle.Franz KAFKA.” Although Lázaro loved Berenice, he had never said a word because there was nothing in the world he was most afraid of. As a consequence of this invulnerable wall he had erected between them, life passed him by. Meanwhile, he got involved in unsatisfying relationships with women who weren’t neither sincere nor healthy. Lázaro had studied Computing, but became a failed nanochip expert. Berenice got her journalism degree and was hired as a speech writer by the local green party. Lázaro put the computer virtual reality glasses on his head. He was determined to make the beetle shaped microchip work without delay and nervously attached it behind his right ear. The device, which had been given the name “Yes-ON”, would be ready. It had been two months since Lázaro last saw Berenice. Her busy schedule barely allowed her a free gap. Once a month, they participated in the local library reading club. That day, they attended the presentation of the recently released book by Victor Voland: The Emotions of Today: How to Succeed in Complex Human Relations in the Second Half of the XXI Century. Voland was an eminence in the field of human behaviour. Berenice thought those matters were a waste of time and didn’t agree with this kind of disciplines. She just had faith in empathy as the key to link individuals together. Berenice accompanied Lázaro because she knew about his obsession with these subjects and had been told about his mysterious ambitions by videomail. “I have been working hard on my 15
prototype and have made great progress. My system will allow cowards like me to have gratifying relationships. This sophisticated marvel will take control of the brain through the stimulation of specific neurological zones and will prevent people from suffering the heartaches of their absurd lives.” She answered back worryingly: “Come on! An apparatus that can control choice and, consequently, free will? You are not a coward, you are just like an extremely fearful kid, my dear Steppenwolf”. Would Lázaro let an experimental machine absorb his real self, command his soul, and take the strings of his destiny inexorably forever? Would Lázaro push the ACTIVATE button? Incoming message on the cybernetic screen… “There’s something I need to tell you. Please, meet me at Poison’s tonight.” “Every gesture, each tone of voice has its own meaning... I promise, my loyal readers that, if you apply the knowledge from this book, you will decode everyone’s emotions and, obviously, take advantage of it.” Voland looked at Berenice and winked. She brusquely changed her posture and coughed anxiously. Lázaro didn’t notice it, he was hypnotized. After a longer speech, the writer invited the public to a private party at the pub opposite the street. Berenice didn’t want to go, but she rejected the idea of not staying with Lázaro until the end. Once in the pub, they were drinking in one of the corners when Voland appeared abruptly covered up by the dim light. Victor sat right next to Berenice, ignoring Lázaro, and whispered to her: “I don’t know you at all, but what I do know is that you are in love with someone.” She wondered how he had figured it out. The psychologist stood up and said “let me hold your hand and dance with me, princess.” Lázaro watched the unprecedented scene incredulously. Voland took her right hand and grabbed her sinuous waist...Then, they kissed passionately shamelessly. Lázaro felt as if he was being stabbed in the centre of his chest. He had to run to the bathroom. He vomited. He stared at his trembling face reddened by wrath in the mirror and pledged furiously: “Never again.” Lázaro moved his left hand in the air, as if he was opening an invisible door. Heavy rain. The drone car dropped Berenice off at the pub’s gate. Through the window, she could see his lonely figure standing, dark like a shadow, looking at emptiness. She approached and tapped his back twice. He didn’t turn. “Listen, I wanted to apologize for my attitude last night. I made a terrible mistake because he doesn’t mean anything to me. Lázaro, you are the only one I really lo…” Instantly, he started to spin around like a strange broken toy. Berenice could gaze, petrified, how an artificial smile was being drawn quite slowly on his mouth. She was unable to contain a desperate dreadful scream when Lázaro said, with some intense green sparkles glittering in his dead eyes: “I lo-love you, pri-princess.”
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Good Night, Good Luck Gustavo Jiménez Miralles
Gustavo was born in 1979 in Castellón, where he studied and worked in the field of chemistry. He later came to Málaga to study and find a job. He loves reading and writing. Among his favourite reads he includes science fiction and fantastic as well as dystopian novels. “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth...” I still remember Bill Anders’ voice proclaiming this from the void of space and the emotion I felt to listen to it. Now, almost 50 years later, I recall the moment holding a cigarette between my old fingers as I did that night, Christmas Eve, 1968. Three of the bravest men in the States were flying to the Moon while I was knocking on hell’s gates... Beyond the walls, the darkness spread over the fields of Virginia. It was nine o’clock in the evening when the phone rang. The last hope had arrived on time. Agent Bowles, in a brand new blue uniform, held the phone behind a thick glass. He looked worried or even astonished, shook his head and turned the lever off. I do not remember how many people there were in the room. The spectators mumbled, some of them could not understand what was happening. A cancelled execution was not normal. I imagined a glimpse of disappointment in too many faces. They had come to watch a man die, to watch how I turned into ashes, and now they were going back home unsatisfied. Governor William Brown, a World War II veteran, was standing beneath the single window. He was smiling, the right decision had been taken -he knew. The sentence had been suspended and no man would die on that Christmas Eve night, for the first time in decades. An officer came up to me. “You lucky man” said the officer as he unchained my wrists and bent over to unleash my legs. Quietly he removed the metal helmet and the soaked sponge from my head. A small riot started, some people disagreed with the decision. I stood up and breathed deeply, my legs were shaking. By the door, my lawyer shook my hand proudly and winked at me. The officers handcuffed me again. “See you tomorrow”, he said as we left the electric chair room. I crossed the corridor back to my cell. I remember how cold that corridor was. A shiver ran down my spine, as I dragged my bare feet to my cell. “Damn it, Nick. You here?” “God doesn’t need me tonight” The officer, skillfully, removed my handcuffs and locked the door behind me. Some minutes later he came and offered me a burning unfiltered cigarette. I hardly ever smoked but that cigarette was amazing. I took a delightful long puff and felt how the warm smoke filled my lungs. I was alive. Still alive! 17
A TV was turned on, I had not realized before. A special show was being broadcast from space. “Good night, good luck...”
My soul in tears
Irene García Fernández Irene was born in Almería in 1980. She holds a degree in Biology and is currently working as a Research Associate in R&D, in vegetable breeding. She enjoys spending time with her family and is a keen learner of English. She has previously published papers in scientific journals. What she is really passionate about is writing. This is her first short story to be published. Despite being totally still, I could feel the beat of my heart hitting my temple. My dry mouth was struggling to breathe, making a vain attempt to secrete a drop of saliva which was swallowed. Furthermore, my devastated body hurt badly. “Where am I?” I asked myself. There was a gigantic cloud of smoke filling the dark atmosphere as far as my eye could see. Initially, I heard a hectic din in the distance, so I tried to speak weakly. No words came out. Although a heartfelt voice told me not to worry, I had a bad hunch, an extremely frightening thought crossed my mind. Then, darkness. I woke up in the middle of nowhere and I thought that being there did not make any sense at all. The area was lonely, there was nobody, nothingness. In spite of that vacuum, I felt surrounded by a heady purplish environment; I slowly started sitting up, noticing the weight of my head on my shoulders. At that moment, lost in my deliriums, I saw a familiar place. Where had I seen that unforgettable sight? I ought to know that, so I tried to recall, 18
to no avail. In the blink of an eye, that sight of my past disappeared. Soon after, I saw a row of lights followed by another, I was being being pushed hell for leather towards the unknown entrance of somewhere. Unknown?I fainted again. I got a bit too much frustrated all over again since I had not been able to remember. Next, I was to witness the weirdest incident I have ever seen. A beach at the end of the world, appeared out of the blue as the scene of a bizarre nightmare. The tepid atmosphere made me feel comfortable, but a blistering hot feeling took over me abruptly. However, the sand was rather sharply transformed into ice where I got stuck, damp and without the ability to move. I wanted to run with all my heart but unsuccessfully, my muscles were paralysed. ‘I must battle for you’. Nevertheless, the more I fought to move, the worse I felt; until I was conscious that I was not strong enough being as I was absolutely exhausted. I could not move an ounce of my body. All at once, sunshine. Both dazzling and comforting, the sun’s reflection on the horizon enlightened my mind somehow: The glint! A blinding light, a squeal, a burnt smell, an unrelieved pain, and the bitterest taste never savoured. My five senses were brought back because of these series of emotions which sprang to mind. They were like a messy puzzle disturbing and piercing my being. I understood it. If I had known it before leaving home this morning, the latter event might have been a far cry from that. At last I remembered setting off for work. I did not see the dawn, it had not got light yet. I was so used to working on Sundays, it was so long-established in my routine that I did not mind already. All the same, I would have liked to have a lie in. “I am not a workaholic, am I? I am supposed to attempt everything. However, I should slow down,” I reflected. I steeply fell down again in my heavy dream. This time, it was set on the icy hill. “What does it mean?” I wondered. I have known this landscape since the year dot. It was my grandma’s village, where I used to witness gorgeous sunsets when I was younger, where I would enjoy summer days with my family, and a place that I will not see again. The memory of being dazzled when I got ready to bend down entered my mind. My car had crashed! After rolling over several times, I banged my head. As strange as it may seem, my unconsciousness has been my heavy dream. Clearly, I realised I had lost everything. The hardest moment was when I was aware of the fact that my son would grow up without their mother. In spite of my huge effort to cling to life, I felt how I was stripped of everything. Even though all of us know what we should do to achieve happiness, harmony, and wellbeing, we do not choose this path until it is too late. What is more, we insist on being unhappy and wretched, living to be concerned and frustrated because we cannot achieve all our aims. Nonetheless, when the moment has come, when you actually feel that your time is up, you do beg for a tiny bit of air, for a pinch of time to spend with your loved ones, for the chance that may have existed. For a second I was allowed to take a glance at the past, then I knew it “I am certainly going to die.” No matter how much I had exerted myself, I would not achieve it. I was supposed 19
to have a life full of happiness ahead of me, but I would not be able to overcome this setback. Afterwards, I tried to shout fruitlessly. I was absolutely furious with…Who with? I did not know. I stopped to catch my breath and fear pressed me. I looked out of the corner of my eye and everything had disappeared. “I am not ready, I am scared! Does he deserve it? I have someone to care for.” At that moment I played the toughest performance in my life: saying ‘goodbye’ to my baby. A gorgeous bond was being cut before its time; that is why the screams nobody could hear have been stabbed like a knife into my throat forever. In the end, I felt a warm tear running down my cheek and I calmed down “Sweetheart, I am afraid I must go; thank you for making my life infinitely marvellous, for making me feel alive and filled with blissfulness just by seeing your smile. Mummy loves you.” Relief and warmth filled my soul, it was so easy to be carried away…
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Thanks to the Official Language School, Hours I've been spending on improving my English level. Although I haven't spoken excellently yet, New Zealand friends have understood me quite well. Keeping on doing my English course, Surely, I'll end up easily expressing one day. Good natured, patient, gifted teachers, Inquisitive, irrepressible classmates, responsible Volunteers at the library, all of them Involve pupils of the foreign languages. No doubt, time hasn´t been wasted in vain, and Grateful students will never forget the school! Natalia Golubeva B2-1 English 24-11-2017
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