Xoxo, the abductor

Xoxo needed money. It never occurred to him that it was possible to obtain it in a quiet and legal way. Then again, Xoxo never was the brightest person one could get to know.

No. He needed money and when he thought about money and in the way to get it, Xoxo thought of puppies. The reason or the logical pathway with which he came to that way of thinking was never found, or if it was, it was too irrational to be considered seriously.

Puppies. Children loved puppies. And the parents would do anything to get the kids to stop crying because the puppy was gone. It was the perfect plan. Xoxo would kidnapp a puppy and get enough money to be set for life. Well, maybe not enough for that, but enough to avoid working for at least... a month.

Xoxo had another problem besides having the radical making-money idea mentioned above. The other problem was that he was lazy. It would be too much work to actually go and look for an appropriate puppy to kidnap. So he simply decided to avoid looking for one. He did not need to look for one when he had a perfectly adorable new puppy at his brother's house. Aunt Marsha had given the puppy to Xoxo's nephew, Johnas, last week for his birthday and from what he had seen Johnas had loved getting the puppy. Xoxo had heard Johnas' father and Xoxo's brother, Marvin, tell Aunt Marsha repeatedly how amazed he was that she had gotten Johnas a puppy. Surely Marvin wouldn't doubt paying a ransom for the puppy. It was the perfect target. And so Xoxo left his house early in the morning towards his brother's place.

The whole kidnapp part of Xoxo's plan was a piece of cake. Marvin always went to work at 6 o'clock and Johnas went to school at the same time, so when Xoxo arrived at 8 o'clock the house was all alone. It was only a matter of minutes to get inside Marvin's house (he used the key his brother had given him for those 'just in case' situations and for Xoxo this moment qualified as one), got the dog collar that was on the table on the puppy and left. The trip home presented no problem either.

It was all going according to plan. Now he would wait a few hours and call his brother. He would ask for 500 US dollars and he'd be set. Marvin would give him the money and Xoxo would release the puppy near his brother's house so his nephew Johnas would get his pet back. What could go wrong? Not a thing.

Xoxo took the collar off the puppy and left him in his living-room while he went to get them something to eat. Not knowing the taste of puppies, he made two ham and cheese sandwiches: one for him and one for the puppy.

By the time he got back to the living room, he found that the puppy had managed to get on top of his favourite and only sofa. It was not in any way a especial couch. The only advantages that it had was the soft feel of the cushions and how comfortable it was. Xoxo smiled at seeing the guileless puppy laying on his sofa. That puppy would get him what he wanted.

He left the sandwiches on a nearby table and looked around his apartment. Not knowing what to do while waiting, Xoxo decided to do what any smart person would do to pass the time: watch TV. To do that, he realized that he would need to move the puppy so he could sit on the sofa. Xoxo could not watch TV unless he sat on that couch.

"Come on, puppy. Get down from there. It's Xoxo's turn now."

The puppy's answer to that was a simple yawn and then he got more comfortable on the sofa. It did not seem that the puppy was going to get off the couch on his own any time soon. And that did not go well with Xoxo. The puppy was going to get helped out of the sofa.

Xoxo grabbed the puppy and pulled him towards him, so that the dog would fall off the couch. It worked. or at least it seemed to. As soon as the puppy hit the floor, it got up and before Xoxo could sit down on the sofa, sat again on the seat. Xoxo did not see that last part so he ended sitting on top of the puppy, but not for long.

With a growl and plenty of not yet very sharp teeth, Xoxo was expelled from the couch. Patting his hurt behind, Xoxo turned around angrily to look directly into the puppy's eyes.

"You bloody bastard! There was no need to do that!"

He raised his arm as if to hit the puppy. He was not going to hit the puppy of course, but then the puppy did not know that. Or so he thought.

Without any fear in its eyes, only distilling cuteness, the puppy stood on the couch, lifted a leg and let nature take its course.

"Aaargh!!" was all that Xoxo was able to articulate.

It had ruined his favourite couch! The bloody puppy had pissed on his sofa!!

Xoxo was not going to wait. He would make the call to Marvin right that moment. As soon as it was possible he would get rid of that couch-peeing puppy.

Trying to calm himself, Xoxo picked up a mobile and dialled Marvin.

"Hello Xoxo" answered Marvin after the first ring.

Xoxo started to speak and paused. Wait a moment, how does he know it's me?

"Xoxo? Why are you calling? Has something happened?"

Oh, I'm such a bloody idiot! I called him with my mobile! He has my number on record! Someone should shoot me for being this stupid. I have to fix it!, he thought.

"Er... hi, Marv!" He said in a rush. "I just go a note that says that Johnas puppy has been abducted! The person asks for 500 US dollars as ransom!" There he had fixed it.

"What?!" Asked Marvin sounding amazed. Xoxo hoped it was the way the voice came through the line. "Really? Are you completely sure? Why did you get the note? Shouldn't I the owner have gotten it?"

"Hell, if I know, Marv! I just got it! I don't know why me! Who knows how this abductor thinks!" I really hope he believes me. Otherwise I'm screwed!, he thought. Xoxo went on: "Anyway, yes, I'm sure, Marv. As soon as I got the letter I went by your place to see for myself and the puppy wasn't there! What are you going to do? Are you going to pay it? Think of Johnas!"

Xoxo held his breath. It was the moment of truth.

"Of course not, Xoxo!! Whoever took him can keep it! I don't like dogs and Johnas is allergic to them! I don't know who abducted the puppy but whoever it was did me a favor!"

"Really? I thought you liked the dog! I saw how thankful you were to Aunt Marsha."

"But of course I told her I was thankful! It would have been extremely bad manners not to have thanked her even if I hated the present. So I did and she was happy. I was waiting a little so she wouldn't be suspicious and in a few weeks I was going to give it in adoption to a friend of mine. I was only worried about what I was going to say to Aunt Marsha when she found out that I no longer had the bloody dog. But now I have a great excuse! Oh, boy, I'm so happy! I'm going home to confirm this wonderful news and then I'm going to call Aunt Marsha. Whoever this is, I'm really thankful! Thanks for the news, Xoxo! You're a great brother! Talk to you later!"

Xoxo hung up, sat down slowly on the floor and looked at the puppy sleeping on his favourite now-ruined sofa. Not only had he gotten no money, he now was the owner of the puppy. Xoxo did not know why but somehow his whole plan had turned out awfully wrong.

Qué lindo sería...

Qué lindo sería que la gente abriera su mente,

que no se encasille sin escuchar,

negada a otra realidad fuera de su ser.

Si al menos la gente intentara comprender

al otro sin la fuerza usar,

las palabras serían un arma de paz tan fuerte.

Hablar frustrado

A veces frustra el no poder hablar,

el tener que decir sin opinar.

A veces me gustaría todo tirar

y dejar que las palabras fluyan y ofendan sin importar

lo que el resto del mundo pueda pensar.

Falling rain

Sometimes I liked to stop to watch the rain fall. I'd sit alone on a bench at the park near home and simply let the rain wash away all feeling, either good or bad.

I could have stayed like that forever.

But then I'd start feeling cold, like there was only ice water runing through my veins.

And I'd smile or cry, depending the day.

I'd do that for just a moment.

A moment where there was nothing but the rain.

But the moment would always end.

And life would continue.

And my clothes would be wet...

Sin explicación

Me desperté y te vi partir,
Valijas en mano y sin mirar atrás.
Vi tu sortija en el edredón
y comprendí que no volverías más.

Y me quedé sentada en el balcón,
mirando cómo te ibas sin decir adiós.
Lágrimas frescas en mi mentón,
Mi estrangulado "Te amo" se quedó sin voz.

Te vi partir sin saber razón.
Eramos uno solo y de repente, no.
Ni una palabra, ningún alerta de la situación.
Me dejaste sola y sin explicación.

Y me quedé sentada en el balcón,
sola con sueños rotos, sin corazón.
Frescas mis lágrimas mojan mi mentón,
Rota muñeca, perdí mi voz.

Hipocondríaca

No tengo nada que decir en mi defensa, Señor Juez.
Sólo que tanto estudio sobre fisiopatología me llevó a darme cuenta de que sufro de un severo trauma neurológico, derivado de la acumulación de ácidos grasos impares por la anemia perniciosa que se me generó cuando una lombriz solitaria impidió la absorción de vitamina B12 en mi intestino delgado. Y que esa lombriz solitaria me la contagié en el laboratorio de parasitología cuando estaba distraida porque caí en cuenta de que el ateroma que estoy segura de que debo tener en el cayado aórtico debe ser por la hiperlipidemia generada por la falta de receptores de LDL en las células que heredé de mis padres. Además me di cuenta de que mi orina tiene proteinuria gracias a la muestra que llevé per jodere al turno de orina de bioquímica clínica. Y después de leer sobre el mieloma múltiple junto con el dato de orina antes mencionado, estoy segura de que ese dolor de articulaciones que siento desde que empecé las clases debe ser causado por una hipocalcemia generada por ese tumor junto el hecho de que la lombriz solitaria no me deja absorber más calcio. A su vez, ahora que lo pienso, siento un dolor muy fuerte en el hipocondrio inferior derecho, con lo que estoy segura de que debo estar generando un abdomen agudo por una apendicitis. Y la hichazón que ve, no es sólo obesidad sino que es ascitis por hipertensión portal por lo que seguro tengo insuficiencia hepática por una cirrosis crónica por tener cálculos de colesterol en la vesícula que me obstruyen los conductos biliares y por ende no poder eliminar los ácidos biliares. No ve que mis ojos están amarillos??? Es la bilirrubinemia!!
Y aún así no entiende por qué puse una bomba en el Departamento de Bioquímica?
Sin las clases de estos profesores nunca me hubiera enterado de todo lo que tenía! Merecían morir.

La Lapicera

Cuentito que escribí hace ya varios años que publico por el mini-concurso de cuentos en El sucucho de Leo. Espero que les guste =)

La Lapicera

“Dos cosas son infinitas:
el universo y la estupidez humana;
y yo no estoy seguro sobre el universo.”
Albert Einstein

Estoy escribiendo tonterías. Sí, ya lo sé. No necesitas decírmelo. ¿Por qué no me detengo? Te diré porqué. Porque no puedo. Porque mi mano se mueve y se mueve al ritmo de esta lapicera endemoniada que ves aquí entre mis dedos.
Y yo, ya no sé que hacer. Lo intenté todo. ¿Qué- qué es lo que hice? Es mejor preguntar qué es lo que no hice.
Lo primero que intenté fue hacer palanca con una regla que encontré por ahí, pero, después de un rato, me di cuenta que era inútil. La regla no servía.
Mientras la lapicera seguía escribiendo y guiando a mi mano, divisé, en una de las paredes de la sala, una sierra eléctrica. Por suerte, no necesitaba enchufarse porque, como puedes ver aquí, no hay instalaciones eléctricas. Bueno, la cuestión es que la sierra hizo mucho ruido, mucho “rrrrrrr” y nada a la lapicera. No podía creerlo. La lapicera no tenía ni un rasguño. Al final tuve que resignarme. La sierra era tan útil como la regla. Y, desde ya, sin pensarlo dos veces, deseché la idea de usar una tijera, porque si no anda una sierra eléctrica, mucho menos una tijera.
Luego se me ocurrió usar una sopapa. Por más que tiraba y tiraba de la lapicera, esta no se despendía de mi mano, pero, mejor, ni te cuento. Definitivamente no funcionó.
Después, desesperado, decidí poner fin a mi vida. Allí, tentadora, estaba la gran ventana. Pensé que no sería doloroso atravesar el vidrio de la ventana y caer a un suelo, que quedaba cuarenta metros más abajo.
No pensé en nada; sólo en mi deseo de verme libre de esta maldita lapicera. Tomé carrera y me lancé en una corrida que a cada momento se tornaba más rápida. Casi tocando el vidrio, cerré los ojos en espera de la colisión.
“¡¡¡Tuc!!!” No sólo no rompí la ventana, ni caí los cuarenta metros hasta el suelo, sino que choqué con algo invisible y me deslicé, tal y como había chocado, lentamente hasta quedar sentado en el suelo, con la lapicera todavía en movimiento. Tardé en identificar el material de la barrera incolora, pero después de un rato de examinación, por mi parte, llegué a la conclusión ( y cuando me di cuenta de que se trataba me quise morir ahí mismo) de que no era de vidrio la ventana, sino de plástico. Un plástico que me impidió la libertad. Desanimado, no intente nada más. Realmente, a pesar de todo lo que había intentado, no pude detener a la lapicera.
Y se debe notar que mi inteligencia no es bella porque sino, no estaría aquí, atrapado por esta broma, que ya no es broma, sino una maldición literaria, impuesta por mi estupidez.
¿Qué-qué es lo que hice? Yo. . . yo, realmente, no sé. Yo me acuerdo que aquella mañana de Marzo o Abril (mire como ya he perdido la cuenta), me junté con unos amigos y nos dirigimos a esta torre, recién aparecida entre los pastos del campo, bien lejos de la ciudad. Una vez aquí, subimos las largas escaleras y nos encontramos en esta habitación. Aquí sólo se encontraban este escritorio de marfil, unos cuadernos y la lapicera que tengo en la mano. Yo, curioso (maldigo cien veces mi curiosidad), tomé la lapicera y escribí mi nombre en el primer cuaderno y, ahí, fue cuando perdí mi libertad. Ahora soy un esclavo de mi mano que lo único que hace es moverse y escribir las tonterías que ya has notado anteriormente.
¿Y qué pasó con mis amigos? No lo sé. Al principio, se reían, pensando que era una broma. Pero salieron corriendo cuando comprobaron que no podía parar de escribir. No intentaron ayudarme.
Veo que miras tu reloj. ¿Te tienes que ir? Te comprendo. No sabes cuánto me gustaría salir de aquí. Pero antes de que te vayas, ¿no me harías un favor? ¿No tendrías una idea de cómo deshacerme de la lapicera?
¿Qué si probé con sólo soltarla? No, no lo hice. Lo intentaré. Gracias por visitarme y por la idea. No se me había ocurrido.

Take a Breath

Shouts, footsteps, laughter, cries. The engine of an airplane flying above. The deafening sound of cars shooting by at the top speed limit. People talking, people smiling, people shouting, people crying. Mobile phones ring their poliphonic ringtones and every so often one poor embarrased monophonic one makes its presence known. The glamorous red of the coats, the missing green, the predominant grey and the ever-present black. The missing smell of roses and the smoggy smell of car's exhaust gas.

The unstoppable movement, the blinding colours, the unfelt textures, the strong smells, the hich-pitched sounds.

There it is the glorious city, the grotesque conglomerate, the unsufficient parks, the stressful life-style.

And in the middle of all that chaos, I just stand there next to you, feeling the wind blowing through my hair, letting it caress my face. I feel calm, light-hearted, happy. But then it's time for you to go, so I watch you as you walk away heading home.

My best friend, my lover. The love of my life. My moment of peace in a whirlpool of movement and stressful days.

And as you get farther and farther away, I feel the world pushing, trying to intrude again into my life. My moment of peace is over, at least until I see you again.

The movement, the colours, the textures, the smells, the sounds come back slowly into my senses. It's useless to fight it, so I take a deep breath, and submerge myself into chaos once again.

Another night's work

Note: This is totally fiction. None of this is true. It's just the work of a bored quasi-stood up woman who likes to read lots of murder stories and when writing them, instead of seeing them from the lawful point of view, sees them the other way around... This said, I hope you enjoy the short story =)


She was dead. She was dead and it was raining. It was a terrible cliche. Every horror movie, every murder scene seems to comprise of a rainy night. It seems almost like a need-to-have in order to make the story more interesting and appealing. But this was no story, no movie. She was truly dead and by my hand.
My footsteps were hidden by the sound of the fat raindrops that fell as I walked away from the scene. My raincoat was soaked through and I was starting to feel uncomfortable.
Not the best weather to work tonight, I thought to myself. It had an advantage, though. It helped wash the blood away. And little evidence would be left after a rain like there was that night.
Half the work is cleaning after myself in order not to get caught. The killing is easy. I just think of them as the animals that they are and it's not so different as killing a chicken or a cow to eat. Of course, I don't eat my victims, but they do give me the cash for me to eat. So all in all, killing cows, killing people, it's all the same. It just provides food to my table.
So I couldn't help but smile. Most of the cleaning I would leave to the rain. I seemed like I had some free time that night. Tomorrow I'd get my paybill for this one. Tonight, I'd get ahead of schedule and get the other one.
The house wasn't very far away from my previous work. Just two or three blocks. It wasn't difficult to get inside it, either. I made sure I didn't make much noise. It wasn't easy with my rain soaked shoes, but it wasn't imposible.
He was sleeping. Like an angel. Sometimes it's hard, like when you have to put your favourite cat to sleep because of old age. He didn't seem to be more than five years old. What a pity. Such a young life. But then, I had been paid for this. I had to get the job done. I never asked for the motive behind the contract. It made it personal.
I saw no point in making him suffer. I kill for a living. It doesn't mean that I enjoy seeing them suffer. That's why as fast as I could I grabbed his head and broke his neck.
There. It was done. Tomorrow I'd collect the pay check for this one too.
As I got out of the house and walked the few blocks to take the bus heading for the airport, I wondered briefly why I had been paid to kill the little boy. Never mind, not my business, I thought. I wasn't paid to think, just to do the job.
I wondered then who my next contract would be. It could be anyone. I don't need more than a reason to kill: I just need a big fat check. That's the only reason I need. So again, I wondered who would pay me next and who would I need to kill.
It really could be anyone. It could be another child sleeping peacefully, unconcious of the dirty dealings his parents were doing. It could be a rich bank manager for all I knew...
Or It could be you. Have you thought of it? You, who have been reading my recount of a night's work. Did you really think that just because you are on the other side of this written work that you would be safe? That you could be the annonimous reader who just observes and doesn't participate?
There could be someone who wants you out of the way and I'd be the happy man to make their wish come true, a big fat load of money in the way, of course. A few days from now I could be around the corner, waiting patiently for the opportunity to dispose of you.
It all depends on who is willing to pay. Nobody is truly safe. Have you thought of it? I just thought to warn you.
Beware.
Beware of the shadows that surround you. I could be waiting there.
But of course, if you're my target, you won't see me coming...


==>Remake of a story I wrote quite a while ago. It was called "My perfect crime"...

IT

I had to tell him. I couldn't hide it. It hurt to know it would make him sad. It would hurt him to know It gone. It hurt to actually face him and tell him that it was my fault. It was my deed. My own actions that had robbed it of life.
In my defense, it was an accident. I regretted it.
No. Actually I didn't regret it.
It would be lying to say that I regretted it. And I don't make a habit of lying.
No, I don't regret it at all.
I moved in with my boyfriend knowing IT lived there. In fact, I already knew my boyfriend had one when we started dating. And I thought it wouldn't matter. That I would be able to live with it. I was wrong. My subconscious proofed me wrong.
I moved in and did my best to ignore IT. I pretended it didn't exist, only nodding when my boyfriend spoke of it or took care of it. I couldn't handle the sight of it, so whenever my boyfriend left the flat I tried to go some place else. No, I wasn't going to be there alone with IT.
But one day I couldn't avoid it. My boyfriend had to travel for a week. Someone had to take care of it. You had to feed it. It would die otherwise and that wouldn't be good.
I swear I did my best, even though panic filled me whenever I had to bring it food. Not one night did I sleep at the flat. I was too scared of it to manage to close my eyes when it was in the same room as me.
Then something happened. It was the day before my boyfriend was due to come back home. I ran out of money because I had been spending it all to pay for the room at the hotel I was staying. I didn't have the chance to ask any friend to take me in for a night; my parents live in another city. No, I had no choice. I had to sleep at the apartment.
It took a lot of courage to enter the flat with my bag of clothes. The fact that I had to sleep alone with it in the flat scared me. When my boyfriend was there it was different. I wasn't so scared, although I was disgusted by It. But my boyfriend wasn't there that night.
I didn't eat. I couldn't. All my hunger had left me the moment I entered the flat.
I tried to work, to read a book, to watch TV. I tried to do anything that would distract me from the knowledge that It was there, looking at me, staring at me. I knew it was probably my imagination, but I felt it glaring at me, annoyed by my presence as much as I was scared of it. It didn't like me. I could feel it in my bones.
I must have somehow dozed off on the couch. Yes, I must have. Otherwise I wouldn't have suddenly opened my eyes to find it inches from my arm.
I didn't think. I just reacted.
I took a bunch of my work papers and rolled them. And I hit it with them. Once, twice, many, many times.
And It was dead.
And I stood there and smiled.
It was gone. It was no more.
And my smile grew wider.
And then I heard the keys turning in the front door.
I had to tell him. I couldn't hide it...

Hope

Bloody red tears fell, striking the pavement with a soundless splash. I looked at her sightless eyes and couldn't help but think: Hope was dead.
Yes, literally and figuratively. There was no doubt. Hope was dead for sure.

__

Words

Words and words and more words. Soon they seem to lose all meaning until you're stuck staring at a wall of words that make absolutely no sense to you. You shake your head, close your eyes and open them again hoping you'll find your vision cleared.
But no. It's still the same. That wall of words that seems shaky enough that you think it'll fall upon you and crush your bones.
But you don't give up. You stare fixedly at it until you think your brain cells will fry trying to get a meaning out of it.
It doesn't work. You try think of an alternative. Perhaps it's better if you take a rest and try again in about 5-10 minutes. So you get up from your desk and go right to your PC where you have nothing better to do than post someting on your blog or play a few rounds of Bowling Buddies (your favourite game at the ever-present, ever-time consuming Facebook). By the time you're finshed playing, you realize that your supposed 10 minute break lasted the whole of an hour and already your morning is over.
Cursing you get back to your desk and start all over again with the study guide you're supposed to know for the next day. But still, 5 minutes after you begin to read your mind wanders everywhere but where it's supposed to be: focused on the written page lying on top of the table.
Still frustrated, you look out the window and you see the perfect sunny day that today is. And you feel more depressed because you're inside instead of enjoying the sun.
You sigh and turn back to the page at hand. You give it the hundredth try. Come on, you can do it. You can learn this for tomorrow... Let's focus.
Words and words and more words. Will they ever end?