Writings in English


  The willow whined sadly as tears of sap ran through its cracked bark. A group of daisies asked him amused why he was sad.

  —Why do you cry willow? Is it because of those ugly cracks in your bark?

  —It’s because from up here I see humans with axes coming over here and I don’t want to turn into wood.

  —That’s what you’re done for – the daisies said in laughter, oblivious to the pain of the willow.

  The humans arriving and after the willow fell, the daisies started to tear and jokingly one by one to defoliate.


  Who laughs at the evil or pain of others will soon taste his own poison.

  All the images used in my articles come from Pixabay.


  He remembered the warmth of that summer playing with his son on his numb legs.

  The saltpeter matted his hair and beard as he continued to remember his life, drifting on a damp wood. He was only the cook of a modest ship that used harpoons as a way of communicating and pools of floating blood by message.

  Apparently someone had received the messages and, with unleashed violence, the sea proceeded to get rid of the insignificant invaders at a swell. His family needed the little money he was going to earn during his absence; that absence that would now last forever.

  A great shadow was rising fast towards him from the depths.

  He closed his eyes and felt part of the balance.

  All the images used in my articles come from Pixabay.


  Got in the huge exoskeleton was invincible; had just repelled the bloody alien attack, saving the planet.

  The heroic image faded as soon as his back abruptly touched the ground with a metallic sound, giving way to the abuse suffered by those three children in the schoolyard. Apparently, the orthopedic metal devices on his legs were not liked by other people.

  A tear fell down the face of the young boy sliding towards the floor of the schoolyard and expanding at the end of that luxurious office, at the feet of the director of the bionic engineering company.

  In front of the huge window he thought how great dream makers were tears.

  All the images used in my articles come from Pixabay.


  The hoarse voice pulled him out of his stupor.

  —¡Antare lubonic estion! –the huge being shouted.

  A beam of light went from the ship to the blue planet, disintegrating it.

  Remembering that incident, he had stopped thirty seconds to collect the diamonds and deposit them in the flying trolleys. The collar, which cut off his neck circulation, then emitted a beep and an electric shock knocked him down.

  He had been urging that plan for many years; taking great care not to be discovered in his little secret.

  There were many ways to lose your life in the wild environment of the UC713B6 planet and even more under the oppressive yoke of that conquering and annihilating species; slavery would never be one of them again.

  Although he had his eyes closed and seemed unconscious, he felt the strong kick that moved him a few meters along the ground. The huge lizard grabbed him by the head, lifting him in the air and removing his collar to proceed to decapitate him. To his surprise, the young human cut his neck with a rudimentary diamond dagger.

  The rest of the various slave species watched in amazement as the human proceeded to deactivate the necklaces with the dead lizard ring.

  The human’s eyes burned with a tearful message and with a gesture of the arm and a powerful cry of hate, they launched themselves to avenge their loved ones and their planets, even if it cost them their sad and lonely lives.

  All the images used in my articles come from Pixabay.


  I am madly in love with her, and the reflection on the sea of the soft bath of light of her full moon.

  I am madly in love with her, and her shining gala dress with which she entertained me on clear nights.

  I am madly in love with her, and feeling her refreshing voice whispering to the green meadows.

  I am madly in love with her, and her warm embrace of fragrances in spring.

  I am madly in love with her, and between these four dark walls, I notice how my essence languishes, remembering the icy touch of her dew when she dawns.

  I am madly in love with her, and with this tiny and worn stone, I store with burning yearning in this cold stone wall, while the steps that execute my sentence approach.

  I am madly in love with her, and in spite of my human mistakes, she has wanted to accompany me in my last days, with the gift between a thin crack, of a green bud.

  All the images used in my articles come from Pixabay.


   The dense veil of suspended particles made it difficult for the sun’s beams to hit the gray planet. Inside, brown plants and diseased trees decorated the bleak everyday landscape through which some brave humans walked connected to spectacular masks of activated carbon filters.

   In a remote and neat room, far from the outside world, the rapid click of a computer alternated with continuous rales were the only sounds that desecrated the solemn silence of that place. A thin thread of blood gushed from the corner of that man’s lips to the keyboard, while large amounts of data were transferred quickly to that data card.

   Just minutes after the agonizing death of its creator, thousands of copies of that card were distributed by countries and distributed in assembly lines.

   The posthumous project began to come alive.

   A new fleet of futuristic buses welcomed humans on board, giving them inside with a high quality purified air.

   Patterns of efficient driving in their switchboards, liquid gases and little pollutants such as fuel and a complex system of purification of outdoor air, made autonomous vehicles the hope of the planet.

  All the images used in my articles come from Pixabay.


   He thought he could perceive now, from the deck, the cries his family uttered when those men arrived armed with machetes to his home with the intention of recruiting him into a children’s paramilitary group. His parents’ refusal was resounding and dire. He ran and ran continuously looking back and profuse trails of tears dotted the barren land.

   Leaving Somalia in a ramshackle van carrying myrrh resin, among which he could hide as stowaway, he wandered for months on foot in that land unknown to him.

   He survived on the remains of garbage and insects but his thin body barely lifted the dust off the road with his meandering feet.

   He was tempted to feel bliss when a group of slavers kidnapped him; at least they should feed him to be able to sell their commodity alive.

   After months of captivity and scars on the wrists by the ties, he managed to escape in an oversight and cross the border of Libya, where after a few months, he stole enough coins to pay for a ticket in a patera with fifty more people.

   The boat capsized midway and forty of those people died drowned.

   When the forces began to abandon him and the cold began to numb his thin limbs, he saw a great focus of light in the distance that seemed to approach.

   Shivering soaked in seawater, he clung tightly to that photograph of his family, while the first white woman he saw in his life, wrapped him in a warm blanket and a smile.

   Two years, six thousand three hundred kilometers and a promise later, he allowed himself to cry again.

  All the images used in my articles come from Pixabay.


   Far echo of hooves resonate
that on a barren terrain they hit,
denote with its serene cadence,
a duty without need of promptness.

   Rhythmic its sound approaches;
a quick expectation is coming
about the people who are overcrowded,
for glimpsing in the dense fog.

   Pristine a white palfrey already appears
and on his back the man who rides,
that dressed in his humble clothes
wealth in his spirit denotes.

   In front of people neighs the equine
who falls before the crowd,
what causes, of astonishment, a sound
before that docile animal lying.

   Bare feet perch on the sand
that take the rider to the audience,
and with his open arms outlines
smiles full of joy.

   Thousands of hugs that enter the scene;
No place for dissent.
Busy human network conforms
surrounding the man with crucifix.

   Green sprouts that arise from the earth,
dark mist that fades;
peace and security overflows them
from his faithful and believing shelter.

  All the images used in my articles come from Pixabay.


   The line of people lined the corner of Calle de la Salud until they reached the doors of a famous book store on the Gran Vía in Madrid. In a casual way, some having a coffee or smoking a cigar, chatted and discussed with each other the novelty of which they were going to be participants while they waited for their turn. And, in fact, curiosity had taken over those pedestrians who, having a free space in their agendas, decided to try that mysterious experience that was offered for free.

   The cargo container, the dimensions of the box of a small truck, was located on one side of the sidewalk, longitudinally to it, to facilitate access to the library and the normal course of pedestrians along the busy sidewalk. Its walls were covered by large black curtains that fell to the clean sidewalk, and from time to time, and before a small breeze of air, its undulations exposed, momentarily, what looked like a series of photographic prints, barely deductible, on methacrylate walls.

   A beautiful woman, at the entrance of the container, was giving way to the people in the line while announcing by megaphone the virtues of the virtual reality machine that was inside, as well as its gratuity. At the exit of the container, a handsome man provided the users with brief instructions and, immediately afterwards, said users waited on the sidewalk in front, facing the container.

   From that sidewalk, one could see if he looked carefully, that people entered the cargo container with a smile and some expectation, and that they came out pale and even with tears in their eyes.

   Inside the container curtain, a comfortable and ergonomic black armchair, with speakers in the headrest and a new vibration and rotation system on an axis, waited empty in front of a modern 3D screen and its corresponding glasses.

   The dark and soundproof cabin promoted a greater concentration of the spectator for the projection of a sequence of images in first person, whose duration did not exceed ten minutes. The images and sounds followed each other, faithfully reproducing the environment, ambient noise and even the thoughts of the protagonists with a voiceover.

   From that little boy who was happy playing with dolls and imagining stunning gowns under the reproachful look of his parents to a woman in her forties who looked in the mirror while running her mascara, she thought about how unfortunate she was to have to adapt to the position of a good married woman to whom the puritan society relegated him, while dreaming of wearing a beautiful suit with a tie and seducing a handsome woman as a handsome gentleman.

   The thoughts reflected the reality of those people, as well as the environment that criticized, rejected or, in general, made them suffer.

   That teenager who felt the rejection of his companions for not being one more playing football, while in his room hung posters of groups of pop boys of the moment instead of those of the stunning models that the rest liked.

   The pain of that man in the postoperative period after breast implants and the sex change operation and, at the same time, the full happiness of feeling fulfilled, finally identified with himself.

   The boo of that radical group about the woman who, with shaved hair, loose clothes and some acne, walked hand in hand with the only woman who had understood her in his entire life.

   That father, who when explaining his true sexual condition and future purposes to his wife and children, felt fear and emptiness seized him and his now empty house, while watching them leave in a hurry with their bags on their backs.

   The dull sound of a fist impacting the delicate face of that woman in the eighties, who was stunned to see how the individual in front of him would raise and threaten him again with the fist, for not having previously revealed his past as a regional rugby player.

   The impotence of that man in the military service who, even managing to perform the same as the rest of his companions, had to endure the laughter of the officers, that he should have stayed at home weaving scarves with his mother.

   Ten minutes that passed quickly, in a whirlwind of images and sounds that left the bitter sensation of having lived ten lives full of anguish. Usually, people got up dizzy from the chair and, with tears in their eyes, proceeded to leave the container, staggering.

   When a large number of people had already passed through the interior of the container, the woman and the man at the entrance and exit, respectively, announced by the megaphone the withdrawal of the black curtains from the container.

   The curtains gave way to various images labeled, both of women and men, before being operated on for sex change. Diverse images of accusing fingers were interspersed; of both with a black eye on one occasion when they were attacked; but photos of hands outstretched in support and their own faces, smiling and happy, were also interspersed, all forming a fairly representative collage.

   In the center of each side of the container, highlighting above all and in very large letters and of different colors, a phrase labeled cried out: A virtual reality machine called EMPATHY.

   The applause of the public waiting on the sidewalk in front of the other people, who did not even enter the container, were the melody that accompanied those two watery looks adorning, with smiles of joy, the complicity of their already old link.

  All the images used in my articles come from Pixabay.


   His thin body barely lifted the dust off the road with his meandering feet; the sun’s rays furiously struck the young boy, who with his head down and his vision blurred, staggered clinging to a fine thread of life; the dry and tasteless sand that was lodged in his mouth was already an old tenant, a faithful reflection of the worst drought in decades; the buzzing of flies around him kept him awake enough to smell that little puddle of stagnant water on which he dropped, avidly sipping the precious liquid until he fainted.

   Omar woke up startled and sweaty due to his already old and repetitive nightmare. His adoptive father returned the tranquility with a warm smile, watching him from the lintel of the door of his room, while he groomed his populated white beard and urged him to dress: they would go for a walk together through the city.

The white snow kept fascinating Omar, who used to wallow in it in the garden of his house and make snowmen with his father at this time.
The big fir trees, decorated with a multitude of ornaments and lights of different colors, made him point right and left and claim his father’s attention continuously, exalted.
But if something loved these dates was the large number of candy stalls that inhabited the central street of his city.
His father bought him a large bag of goodies every year and Omar, like every year, went from his father’s hand with the bag of goodies, to the section where most of the homeless congregated.

   ─For my brothers -he always said happily while handing out all the goodies.

  All the images used in my articles come from Pixabay.


  The phone rang at four in the morning and, although contained by the walls of that small cabin in the middle of the forest, interrupted the silence of the closed night.
The rain began to rush hard on the hut, splashing freely on its roof; the small clink of water that leaked through the leak hitting the interior of the cabin, began to accompany the scandalous sound of the phone.
The wind, raging, threw rain on the foggy windows and whistling vehemently, shook the tops of the lush trees that endangered that site.
The nocturnal birds that took shelter in the strongest branches of the trees and that observed the place where that rhythmic sound characteristic of that endless call came from, began to hoot, adding themselves to the splash of rain and the sound of the blizzard.
The unexpected rays tore through the night sky, giving a different tonality to the night while playing with their shadows; thunder joined the concert granted by Nature in that hidden piece of land.
Lightning struck vertiginously over one of the giant trees, cracking one of its branches with a flash and a crash. That branch, allied in secret with the force of gravity, took the right path to pounce on the roof and walls of that construction, demolishing part of its structure.
The water and the wind now entered into pleasure inside, trying to extinguish the insistent call of that contraption.
One of the birds set off for the uncovered cabin at the same time that the wind managed to precipitate the phone from that sober wooden table to the wet floor. The bird landed very close to the telephone off-hook; the brightness of the black hooked earpiece was reflected in his large and bright pupil; curious was getting closer, and shaking his head slightly to one side and the other trying to understand, came to place one of his ears on the silent device.
The long and continuous beep of the device reverberated in the head of the bird before resuming the flight by hooting.
The sudden cessation of the storm made it clear that the phone stopped ringing at seven in the morning, with the sunbeams of a new dawn caressing that virgin forest.

  All the images used in my articles come from Pixabay.


  The mists roamed the city knowing they owned the night and giving a fine veil of moisture to what they caressed. The bluish flame of that lamp flashed to the sound and with the same grace with which the mists swirled. But the closed night invited the honest inhabitants of that emblematic city to take shelter under the roof of a good fire, as much or more comforted by the safety of the rudimentary bolt recently installed on the door, as by the heat of the home.
The religious silence was barely interrupted by a distant sound of horse hooves dragging a car that in a matter of seconds returned it the prominence. Rodents slipped through the recesses of the walls after fleeting the exposed cobbled ground.
And there where the dim light of the lamppost could not illuminate the darkness of that alley, a monument to cruelty and sadism was erected, in human form and wrapped in a black cape that gave a repetitive blink as the only symptom of life. Its prey, which would have the honor of exercising a leading role in its ode to violence, would soon appear.
The excitement accelerated the heart of that creature when a few steps began to approach that location to finally stand just a few meters from its fateful fate. The woman, dressed in a dirty dress, lit a fine cigarette that, together with adopting a relaxed pose against the wall, would help her wait for some man in search of her comforting and moist heat at the price of pennies.
The shadow soon approached silently and struck by surprise a blow to her belly that would make it difficult for the victim to scream for the lack of air and that would make it easier for him to position his hands around his neck without screaming of terrifying surprise in the first instance.
He threw her to the ground and strangling it with adequate force so as not to sink the trachea was compensated to see that sheen of pure panic in the eyes of the victim. He slightly eased at the pressure of his hands on her neck since the best was yet to come and he wanted her conscious.
While taking out the instruments from her cape, the woman tried to emit a scream that resulted in a grimace drowned by another accurate kick to the abdomen. Contemplating his black eyes reflected on the sheet of cold metal was part of his ritual. On his knees and with one hand pressing her trachea again, he raised the metal accompanied by a smile and sinking it on the side of the victim’s abdomen, began with a biased movement to leave the viscera in the air. He felt the warm blood flowing and soaking his wrists and only a scream of pain never experienced and agonizing suffering, managed to remove him from that joy that flooded him.
Angrily, and with a cutting that reached the victim’s cervicals as proof of this, he sliced the neck that began to emit rales and that seemed like music to him.
With haste and before the victim completely lost consciousness, he reached inside and began to take out the jelly-like intestines, spreading them along his legs.
The music stopped and licking one of his fingers he sat up admiring his work; he put the instruments in his cloak and with one last look of yearning he walked away, disappearing into the mists.

  All the images used in my articles come from Pixabay.


  Cindy’s little hands helped her mother knead the gingerbread cookie dough she would have for lunch that afternoon. Her mother would have a lot of work today preparing the famous stuffed turkey and the rich eggnog for Thanksgiving dinner, so Cindy decided to lighten her mother’s burden by participating in the preparations.
Cindy loved Christmas parties, both for the striking ornamentation of the city streets, and for the spirit that was shared inside and outside her home. Through the kitchen window, while chatting casually with her mother about how to shape the cookies, she saw the houses of the neighbors, who had mostly facades adorned with a multitude of lights and ornaments. Except one of the houses that was located two plots to the left of her, on the opposite sidewalk. Shee wondered who would live in that sad house.


  Eyes watched the outside of the street through the slits of the blinds down. Outside, the children were running around and throwing snowballs in laughter, dressed in bulky coats and colorful earmuffs.
A call to the landline made him startle, while he reluctantly looked away from the street and headed in the dim light to answer the phone.


  Her mother had given her a little break so Cindy took the opportunity to go out and play in the snowy garden for a while and make the best snowman on the street. A loud sound took her out of the enthusiasm with which she had just settled the snowman’s base and when she turned her head where the sound came from she saw how an old beige Ford Crown Victoria was squeaking wheels from the garage of the house without decorating, hitting a metal garbage bin while turning sharply to take the street straight, subsequently disappearing into the distance.


  He was moving towards a small interior complex of buildings, having passed the military fence and parked the car outside the fence. He brought an identification card to the card reader of one of the doors of the rough building, and the doors opened. He went to the elevator, and introducing a key and turning it, headed for the basement.
  ─You have to see this Matt, -said his second in command as the elevator doors opened and he set foot in the room.
A videowall consisting of ten screens on the back wall of the room and ten tables with computers and the rest of the team of people typing and checking data, were distributed on both sides of the room, forming the interior of the bunker.


  In Cindy’s warm home, the crackling of logs in the fireplace accompanied the family’s clapping choir during the string of Christmas carols trying to sing in turn with remnants in the mouth of freshly made gingerbread cookies.


  Matt put on his glasses as he approached the computer that had picked up the alert. His operator stepped aside to let the American aerospace defense coordinator review the data. After a few minutes checking the data of the satellite computer number three, he looked back at his second in command with concern and again looked back at the data.
  ─Verify the information with the rest of the satellites and put the centralized information in the videowall -he said as he hurried to the black bakelite desktop phone.


  The huge golden stuffed turkey was approaching in a beautiful tray at the hands of her mother towards the hollow in the center of the rectangular table. Large sources of roasted corn cobs, mashed potatoes and peas and baby carrots awaited the turkey on the table.


  At the moment of picking up the handset and starting to dial the president’s number, he looked at the ceiling to see how at that precise moment the red rotatives turned on and the alarms began to sound. He hung up the phone and headed for the videowall to see more clearly if his eyes were not cheating on him.
Five signals equivalent to five Russian intercontinental nuclear missiles were headed for the United States and a clear message was flashing on the screens: “Imminent nuclear missile attack”. From his posts, his officer and noncommissioned officers looked at him sharing his same convictions: it could not be a mistake.


  Seated all the members of the family at the table, looked at the succulent food and the architect of such an abundant dinner, alternately, with a grateful smile on her face. With a slight nod and some blush on her face, the mother gave her approval and then the family members entwined their hands, closed their eyes and began to pray: “Bless us, Lord, and bless these foods that for your goodness we will take…».


  A visible drop of sweat furrowed his forehead, in no hurry, appearing aware of the transcendental moment and dedicating its minutes of glory, while the coordinator watched astonished as the signals were getting closer and closer to their continent.
  ─Sir, we have to notify the president immediately -his officer suggested as he approached him openly with an open briefcase, with a code screen and a large red button covered by a protective cover.
But Matt, mired in his thoughts, analyzed the possibilities that the system could fail five times in a row and that this error was in turn confirmed by twenty different security levels. It was inconceivable, however, it was also inconceivable that the USSR, without missile defense systems, launched a suicide attack without warning. In ten minutes, according to forecasts, the impact would occur resulting in an explosion two hundred and fifty times greater than that of Hiroshima.


  “…Amen”. And the father politely offered to carve the turkey, serving his wife’s plate first and then that of his children. They tasted the tender and tasty turkey while praising the good technique used by the chef in its preparation. After quenching their appetite, they proceeded to collect all the dishes from the table, and store the leftovers in tuppers, for the distribution of these surpluses among the homeless during the following days.


  ─Notifying the White House of this situation would mean World War III, John. It is not possible that they launched this offensive. Such a moron is not yet born, not even in the USSR, -Matt said.
Then, and in the absence of five minutes to the impact, the red rotatives turned off and the sirens stopped emitting the alarming sounds. On the videowall screens the five signals had disappeared.
   ─Check all the satellites again and track those signals, -the colonel ordered.
But the signals were gone; everything had been the result of a system failure due to a series of electromagnetic alterations produced by a thunderstorm.
His officer and noncommissioned officers ran to hug him, skipping any protocol, and between laughter and tears of joy they praised the cold blood and the success of that colonel in this difficult situation. Matt collapsed on a chair with his whole body shaking and a feeling of great joy.


  Cindy proceeded to inaugurate the gift shift with a pretty bouquet of purple and orange wildflowers that she delivered to her mother. Sitting again by the fireplace, they exchanged chocolate candy boxes, typical Christmas sweets of white and red colors, and handed out toys, wrapped in packages of a bright garnet.


  Upon learning of what happened, Matt’s superiors told him that he would be decorated for having avoided the catastrophe with his good judgment. But the reality was very different. The United States could not allow the American people themselves, much less the USSR, to find out what happened, so the events were hidden and Matt was relegated to a position of lower hierarchy to later be retired early with a life pension that covered barely his basic needs.
However, thirty years after what happened, a noncommissioned officer that day in that bunker, made the data public in the press and the American people immediately put that hero in the shadow.


  The snow covered the gardens of that long residential street again. Again it was that special Thanksgiving day and an adult Cindy, was walking on foot from her house two blocks, to the house of her elderly parents, where she had spent her childhood.
She rang the bell, and her parents, after opening the door and giving her a few kisses, proceeded to give her a few presents wrapped in a bright red paper. Cindy looked back at that house that was still undecorated, but this time instead of assaulting her doubts, a smile was drawn on her pretty complexion and she went, with her decked out and laden with gifts, toward the door of that sober house.


  A coughing ache made him look away from the slits of the blinds down, and using a cane, he approached grudgingly toward the medicine drawer. He returned just in time to observe again through the slits of the blinds as a large group of people came loaded with gifts at his door. Cindy headed the neighborhood entourage.
They rang the bell repeatedly but Matt didn’t open the door.
  ─We know you’re there sir, -Cindy called from the other side.
  ─We want to thank you for what you did for our country on a day like today so many years ago. Are you a hero sir.
A tear ran down the face of that old colonel on the other side of the door.

  Every year, for Thanksgiving, many people approached Matt’s house to place their signs of thanks by his door, for the humility and good judgment of that man who saved so many lives.
Even after he died, a wreath of flowers looked every year in front of his door, adorning the sober house, during those Christmas celebrations.

  All the images used in my articles come from Pixabay.


  The boy craved those cookies and when his mother truncated his capricious plans, he unleashed his biblical palette in the supermarket.
The man with a cane, witnessing it, gave tremendous tackle to the evil woman who forbade eating the little one.

  The infant’s smile brushed a Guernica of skirts, canes and cookies.

  All the images used in my articles come from Pixabay.