jueves, 10 de enero de 2019

Out of Breath


Part I

Dedicated to Pascale and Hans,
two survivors



Sarida was running out of time. The cold air passed painfully trough her lungs and came out in a white cloud that made her vision more difficult. It was freezing. Her sweat transformed immediately into cold drops, and thou she was running, the cold reached to her very bones. The wind blow tempered against her, trying to stop her. As if something besides death could stop her. She couldn’t stop. If she stumbled, if she felt THEY would get her.

The streets were empty, thou the windows of every home were lightened. All the chimneys had the fire on. However, no door would open if she knocked. No one was going to rescue her, to help her, even to pity her. The world had turned as cold as the weather.
Of course, even if she could, she wouldn't accept any help there. She knew what was going to happen any minute now. They were all doomed. Everyone. Even her, if she could not get out of the city on time. But even if she could, if one of those things followed her out... Well, she'll probably end up dead as well.
A scream. She couldn't help but turning around. Even thou she knew from the moment she heard it what that sound meant. Even if she had seen it before. It was always hard not to gaze at the horror.

There were two of them at the end of the street. Two figures of dark condensed smoke. No, they were not exactly smoke, there substance was more liquid than vapor, yet the tentacles that formed the human like figures seemed to evaporate and fly around, as they touched the cold air. She did not know what they were made off. She never stopped long enough to check, that would be her death.
And for a moment, she thought that that was going to happen to her. Sarida had doubted, she had looked behind and she was going to pay for it.
Then she saw the girl.


lunes, 7 de enero de 2019

Reseña: 50 sombras de Grey 2, una novela abusiva







Hace tiempo, en mi primera reseña de "Cincuenta sombras de Grey", hablé de como lo peor de la novela era la forma en la que, sin percatarse, la autora había escrito una relación abusiva. Prometí entonces que explicaría mi razonamiento más detenidamente en otra entrada y, voilà, ha llegado ese día. Así que, estad preparados, lectores y lectoras, porque este ensayo va a ser bastante más serio que el anterior.