Let’s Have a Look

We walked for two hours after dinner. Some say it’s good to take a walk after eating, but my stomach hurt. Helen, my friend, seemed to be happy, though. She was weird in high school, always wanted to walk at night carefree. We’re adults, and she had the same fascination for the after-hours. 

“Hey,” she interrupted my thoughts, “Want to check it out?”

I followed her gaze; there was a huge cemetery in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t realize we were this far from civilization. I shook my head. 

“C’mon, chicken. It’ll be fun.” 

She looked at me, smiling; I recognized those eyes, just like when we were teenagers. I was speechless. We’re adults now, girl, but the words never got out of my head. 

She grabbed my arm to drag me with her. The gates were closed, but the walls weren’t tall enough. She was crazy. I couldn’t believe we went from a normal conversation at Cici’s to invade a goddamned graveyard. 

Helen was braver than me, that’s for sure.

“Help me up.” I frowned when she said that. I thought she only wanted to have a look from outside. 

“No,” I responded, “I don’t think I need to explain why this is so wrong.”

“Don’t worry, chicken,” she hit my shoulder with a playful fist, “you don’t need to come with me. Help me up.” 

I don’t know why I ended up helping her. “I’m going to wait a few minutes and then leave, okay?. Do whatever you’re supposed to be doing inside quickly.”

She left without a single word. I lost sight of her. I repeated out loud that I was about to go, but I didn’t get a response—complete silence. 

In the end, I went inside to look for her. She made me jump with a boo, and laughed at me. I recovered from the scare and called her idiot, and then I smiled. 

“Want to have a good look at the place?” She asked. 

I nodded. I guess this could be fun. 

At the Coffee Bar

Okay, this is a difficult one; I am still ignorant about past centuries, so I’ll pick a general response. Feel free to remove points for this one.

I’d probably be with someone “different”, part of a minority (no-white), and segregated from society. A black person, Asian, or anyone that looked different centuries ago.

The best part of diversity is the way we learn something new from different cultures, traditions, and ideas. Some of these could be adopted in our society nowadays. I can imagine that there was a lot to learn from the people who had to remain quiet back then. Perhaps our views would have been a lot different today if we’d known from diverse groups. I would love to hear how people felt when they truly had no rights.

I’m a quiet person in general, so I’d be listening most of the time. But if I had to talk, I guess my words would be of encouragement. I am Mexican, so I’d be part of that minority too, and I think I’d be in the exact situation as that other person. We’d both be segregated individuals from society, very likely having a hard time making a living.
Mutual interests could be a good topic to start a conversation. Everyone, regardless of any obstacle, has different tastes in music or ways to kill time, which would help us forget about the horrible life we had during that century.

White Flowers

A young woman smells the white flowers as she waits in the park.

The young woman sat at the park on the usual bench. She took one of the many white flowers that rest near her, holding it between her fingers; its fresh smell made her remember the first time she met him near the fountain that rests in front of her.

People were walking around, each person holding a share of happiness or grief. But the woman does not notice any of them, only blurry figures moving from left to right, while she tries to find that silhouette of the man she cares about. Nothing else matters.

Listening to all the voices gathered around was hard—many words at once, unintelligible, unimportant; not his voice between the other noises.

The woman never asked herself how long she has been waiting there. The sun is about to hide behind the mountains. The blurry human forms reduced their numbers, and no one reminiscent of Michael has shown up yet. She never stopped smiling at the hope. Anything could have happened that was making him late.

A tear fell. A smile got warmer on the young woman’s face. An old man approached the bench; he did not say a single word, just let out a sight.
The old man left a white flower on the bench and walked away. She was glad to see him again.

A Sight of the Moon

nubes jesus dA sight of the Moon. It is all is left.

The sky has turned black and purple. The starts shine differently, and the Moon is reflecting their light. The sun is hidden, somewhere out there, as if Earth moved away from its gaze. A silence embraced everything. A few insects are singing from afar, while a person is sitting alone on a bench, smoking a cigarette.

That person has long golden hair that dances with the air. The nocturnal breeze that whispers an unintelligible language. It makes the smoke she blows to disappear. How long had she been there already? Time turned out to be irrelevant, it should have been morning already, according to the hour shown on her phone. 8:46.

The girl believes it’s a dream that went beyond the deep unconsciousness. It is too tangible to be false; a trick that her brain had been playing. The detail of her environment is real. The fountain with the alligators is there, right in front of her, and the streetlights on, as if the world had stopped by the will of someone—something greater.

The tobacco’s taste is as she remembers it. Downtown should be occupied by now by those that are heading to school or work. Only the breeze kept its whispering. No engines, no footsteps approaching, nothing else to count as a company. It seems the world had just stalled, and just a few might be there, conscious, embraced by the same solitude as hers; though the girl doesn’t seem to care. In fact, she seems comfortable; maybe she was waiting for something like that to happen all along, without really knowing. A hidden wish that had always lived within her, trying to escape without a will.

The girl with the golden hair, without a proper perception of her surroundings, closed her eyes. An abandoned town couldn’t be dangerous; and the inhabiting ghosts were silent to her presence. She’d found a certain beauty on a moon and many stars that emit a strange, pretty, purple light. A beauty that is present, just for her.

Suddenly, she realized something: as much as she’d wanted to convince herself for that to be a dream, there was something wrong. The girl knew it wasn’t a dream, and yet, she didn’t want to let that sense of comfort go. She walked through the streets of El Paso, never too far from downtown. Nothing. Only the echo of her own movements against the pavement.

Offices, restaurants, and other public places; even those that are supposed to be open 24 hours, have their lights off. Only the streetlights are working. Is the whole world gone? She thought, and then repeated it, this time using words, in case someone could hear.

A few hours later, at the time that was supposed to be noon, she returned to her apartment. The lights worked well. The other buildings had their lights off. Probably the people are still sleeping, waiting for the sunlight to hit in their rooms. Or worse, maybe they were gone, to a place where the sun is actually shining. Another version of the Earth.

In the end, what could a human do in that situation? There was a self-portrait in her room next to the bed. She’s an art student at the Texas University. There are a few drawings scattered on the floor, some of them abstract and some others realistic. All of them had her signature, but only one of them a name—it had been written using Cyrillic characters. In Roman characters, it reads: Alena.

Alena didn’t feel the need to sleep. She grabbed an empty canvas and two colors: black and purple. With that, she could immortalize that moment, in case the thing that had caused the strange event decides to return everything back to normal.

What of her family? What of her friends? She never gave a single thought about them. Painting became her priority.


This is just a prelude of my project called For Her Moon. More preludes to come.

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Thank you for your time.