This space is a bite into monotony, through the impulsive and shameless exercise of the written word. In fleeting times, like ours, in which immediacy and uncertainty seem to have taken over our daily lives, the micro-story stands as an effective psychotherapeutic pill.
Covidian Loves
There was an alarming tranquility. With a couple of occasional rubs, the infection could be transmitted epidermally. They had to keep two meters apart, even in the house, but they were together for a long time, in the same place, and this was not feasible. They could only caress with the feet, legs or back to back, it is clear that these parts of the body are not a source of contagion. The mouth-to-mouth kiss was replaced by one at a distance, the lips were stamped on the cell phone pad and the other or the other, received the touch of their lips that were reproduced in the sensors of their device, calibrating the intensity, texture and the scent of the mouths, as if it were a soft sigh. At night, before going to sleep, a curve was drawn on the surface of the transparent masks, the lights were turned off and then they fell in automatic mode in their little sky.
Carlos Horacio Jimenez Barrero
You may be interested in: La Esquina Delirante LXXII (Micro-stories)
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No shoes and other losses
Levy runs along the cobblestones of the railway, pulling hard on the arm of his sister who is crying inconsolably. His father anxiously pursues the slowly moving train. Her mother holds the baby and cannot keep up with her husband. Levy picks up the little girl and loses one of her shoes as she hurries the race. Her father comes back panting and takes the inconsolable girl in his arms, while they try to reach the wagon where other escapists offer their open hands. Levy steps forward, but loses his other shoe in the desperate rush. Feels lighter, faster, clings to outstretched hands. Watch as familiar figures drift away into the night into the smoke and fog. Levy knows that he has lost more than his shoes.
Ricardo Moreno Prieto placeholder image
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Cistern
The children played in the yard scaring chickens. An intense smell of fresh shit took their breath away. They covered their noses with the collar of their T-shirt. They entered the palm house in bewilderment.
Grandma Maria, who spent the day sitting in the rocking chair, was taken out into the corridor. The men searched the corners for any excrement outside the toilets or rodent meat. They found nothing. A gust of wind spread the smell throughout the town. The chickens cackled with a start, the parrots shouted: “Help, help!”
The priest sprinkled drops of holy water on the houses of the town. A crowd gathered in the square, looking at the sky and the soles of their shoes.
Follow the news of El Espectador on Google News“Beelzebub!” Beelzebub! The priest shouted.
Grandma was thirsty. Idalia tossed the jug into the well. When he took it out the water was brown and smelled bad. He threw it to the ground. In the afternoon they hung hammocks in the hallway and mosquito nets from the ceiling. In the early morning it rained. When they woke up they went to the cistern – it was dry. The walls of the warehouse were cracked.
Despite everything that happened, they felt happy because the rain carried the bad smell to another town …
Veronica Bolaños
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We suggest: The Delirious Corner LXXI (Micro-stories)
Waiting
Standing under the windowsill he waits for his wife, not paying much attention to the persistent rain. There she is, across the street, with her pink umbrella and heart-sprinkled rain boots. He sees her rush to cross, rise through the air after being hit by the car, and fall limp on the pavement. Paralyzed, he just thinks that the incident just freed him from a postponed and awkward conversation. He will no longer tell you that he cannot stand his morning breath, that kisses behind his ears disgust him and that he is not willing to eat, not once more, his famous pasta primavera. The sensation of wet lips brushing his cheek interrupts his thoughts. – What a horror! I almost couldn’t cross the street; with this rain people go crazy. Have you been waiting long?
Laura Cala
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Welcome to all micro -stories to [email protected], maximum 200 words. Follow us on Instagram as @laesquinadelirante.
