World Cup One

At noon the aircraft returned to have a good bass, as always, but left earlier than usual. But, what a surprise!, he turned around and returned and was again suspended, for a few seconds in the air. The belly of the aircraft was flashed by the intensity of the Sun, augmented several times by the brightness of the newly installed zinc sheets. When my mom ordered the table for lunch, noticed that someone was missing, and then asked:-good and my daughter where is? -Went to bathe where the neighbor, where the godmother Nelvis. It was to bathe there, because here is over us the water-answered Gilma, one of our political aunts of visit in those days in our House. -Anda, nofriegue! If where Nelvis have the ceiling without bathroom! That plane was not going with reason. And every time the aircraft gave several turns before you go on your journey towards distant cities, until one day did not see more. In a newspaper headline read: magpie suspends its flights.

From one day to another no more tremors of the twelve; the fall of the vessels; the swaying of the lamps; and in love smiles and tender looks. We could re-upload us to almonds at the time that gave us the win. And we could contemplate again to Elvira, the fortune teller’s cards, when he bluntly revealed the secret encrypted for adulterous women and fornicators men to anyone who had three pesos to pay the consultation; and we saw great plays in the stadium as the goal of the Baker when he eluded three rivals and made an umbrella goalkeeper to make a goal worthy of the World Cup; and we listen to Jairo Romero when He recounted the subtle charm of the smug and quick ball which described a capricious curve before it crashed violently on the floor of stone and dust on the Court, away from the frame where should meet an appointment with the ecstasy of the goal. One day, when children left me in the solitude of my seventeen years, I went to the airport where I contemplated a black and cracked track by whose cracks scurried the vestiges of my past; I faced the uncertain of sadness horizon and blurred traces of nostalgia.

Proudly powered by WordPress
Theme: Esquire by Matthew Buchanan.