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.
Vindication of a condemned
A king is imprisoned in his palace and fights enemies who deny his freedom. He battles them every day, but, having the strength to annihilate them, he doesn’t. When defeat rides and shakes the palace gates, the king, with meek resignation, receives the horde without the slightest resistance. The terms of the truce become more and more irreconcilable, then the war is reignited: the king is always wounded. They know they can’t kill him. The palace, which is not lacking in elegance, is not the king’s preference; but, curiously, there are days when he feels so comfortable with him that he anticipates the dawn and goes out to withdraw his enemies. However, there are also others in whom he despises him so much that he feels an urge to destroy him, but does not do so for fear of mockery or punishment. Another reason, no less cowardly, that prevents you from destroying it, is the fulfillment of numerous obligations. And, precisely, both things, the fear of sentence and the fulfillment of duty, prevent him from escaping from the palace, a useless fortress for his purposes as king. What are your purposes as king? Does not know.
Juan Sebastián Padilla Suárez.
We suggest you read: La Esquina Delirante LXI (Micro-stories)
Under the tentacles of the jellyfish
The unconscious fish left the group seduced by the jellyfish despite being warned about its predatory abilities, how it swallowed other fish of different colors and sizes. He couldn’t believe it when he got closer and looked at her body glowing with a beauty that lit up the entire ocean. A force pushed him towards her hopelessly. He did not think about what could happen to her, he just let himself be carried away by the current and swam towards her as if he felt an irresistible attraction over which he could not have any control, as if something in the marine world had been upset, as if a raging tornado He will take it without sanity and without logic. He could not stop looking at its bell-shaped head, seeing its mouth moving, and despite everything, he allowed himself to be enveloped by the tentacles. When it was imprisoned, the fish could not escape death: it was not the body that was imprisoned, but the soul.
Celia Ortiz Lombraña.
The boss
She was wearing a skirt and intense makeup from early hours. We all called her El Patron: in the middle of a heated situation, she used to emphasize that she was El Patron. The women did it too: ‘send you, Patron’, ‘say no more, Patron’, and that’s how it remained. That morning, El Patron ordered the calf to be sacrificed because, according to her, it had been born ‘battered’, as the calf did not stand up in the first 24 hours. I insisted on giving it more time because the creature had a lively look. But El Patron replied: “Look, Lucas, just pay attention, that’s what you get paid for. Here are pawns who do much more than you and do not earn even a quarter of your salary. Your mouth fills up with opinions about things you shouldn’t. Get off the cloud and don’t complicate our lives ”.
Follow the news of El Espectador on Google NewsDespite his words, I opposed the sacrifice and told him that I was taking the calf for my little ranch. The Boss called for the foreman, a strong and tall man, but as soon as she shouted ‘García!’, He dropped in height and, even, sitting down, slipped in the chair. “You who do know about these things, tell Lucas what the pod is like,” and Garcia said: “Just like you say, Patron.” The calf was euthanized in front of me. Garcia stabbed his knife into the neck and cut the jugular vein in one motion. “Done, Patron,” Garcia said. The Boss turned to look at me. I was crying silently. “Organization comes first and you don’t help with your attitude. I have read about it, I took courses and the subject is attitude ”.
Luz Martinez.
Stop to move forward
Lucia wipes her tears with the dirty sleeve of her black jacket. Smile. She is a university student in her last semester and, on her, weighs a great credit that pays for her studies. It is part of the high unemployment rate in the country.
He has been in the streets for five days, from sunrise to sunset, with the Colombian flag tied around his neck. The harangues of the protest are heard in the background while Lucia watches, through a glass case, a television screen announcing that the government will withdraw its tax reform proposal.
Feeling victorious, she sits up, catches her breath, and joins the crowd again. There is so much to accomplish and, therefore, tonight he will be home late again .
Diana Lucrecia García.
You might be interested in reading: History of Literature: “Gargantúa and Pantagruel”, by François Rabelais
Ethyl
The door to the street shook with Bertica’s knocks “Open, open!”, She shouted, while Alfredo, her husband, lying on the sofa, looked up at the ceiling.
In one corner of the room he kept a collection of empty beer bottles, and in his hand he held one with one last drink. He was hesitant to take it … The sofa gave off a sour smell and had a stickiness adhering to the fabric.
“Hey, Alfredo, open up or the police will come!” Bertica said. The man continued to stare at the ceiling without letting go of the bottle. For a moment, he lifted his back and, incidentally, his buttocks. A strong rotten smell shot out, a smile spread across her face “Call her, I don’t give a shit!” He kept smiling until he reached a laugh. His neck was painted red, his chest expanded, and his abdomen jumped as if he had a ball trying to get out. Then he took the last drink. “I took it!” He said aloud. “I told you no, it was for me!” The woman yelled.
Manuel de León.
* Welcome all micro- stories to [email protected], maximum 200 words. Follow us on Instagram @ laesquinadelirante *.
