2/28/2014

A Story A Day. Story 55 of 365: Footprints (VIII).

Dana opened the door, two dark figures were standing at the doorstep. Genevieve wasn't lying, they were sea people. The older one, Nemo, was more than 6 foot tall, the other one, Shore, was even taller. As Genevieve had said they had dark scaly skin and big yellow eyes. Dana was speechless, fortunately Genevieve went to the rescue. 

-Nemo, Shore, these are special agents Williams and Spencer. They came because the neighbors were worried about your footprints. 

-I told you they had seen them.- said Shore to his father. 

Nemo was about to reply when Genevieve cut him.

-Anyway, this is going to end soon.

-Do you mean...?- Nemo reached for her, looking desperate. 

-Yes, my time is coming, you already knew that.- she was determined, accepting her fate.- Would you mind leaving us alone?- Dana and Tray started heading to the door, when Genevieve added.- You too, Shore. 

He opened his mouth to protest, but after a second he followed the humans outside. Dana and Tray sat on the bench, but he stayed on his foot looking at the town lights. Dana joined him after some thought. 

-How is life down the sea?- she asked.

-Not too different from up here, I believe, we have our problems, most of them related to you, but we live well enough.- his voice had a sharp edge she hadn't noticed before.- Still, it's difficult for me, there are not so many hybrids, my childhood was hard. Only now people have started to respect me. 

-I'm sorry.

-Don't be, it was love what made them do it.- he looked into her eyes for the first time.- And love,...- he left his words die off, suddenly struck with something.

The door from Genevieve's house opened, and Nemo's head stuck out of it. He told something to his son in their language and got back in.

-We should get inside, Genevieve wants to talk to us all.- Shore said. 

Genevieve was lying on her bed, looking frail and old, as she was supposed to for her age. It was such a big change from only some hours ago that Dana and Tray couldn't believe it was the same person. She made her son approach her first and told him something. He just nodded and hugged her. After that she made the special agents approach her death bed. 

-I want you to promise me that you're never going to tell this to anyone. 

-No one would believe us, anyway.- Tray responded quickly. 

Dana was too distracted, she could feel Shore's eyes on her back, she remembered his words. 

-Dana?

-Of course, we won't tell anyone. 

Genevieve looked at her strangely, and smiled. 

-I believe you. Stay, kid, I want to talk to you. 

She made Dana approach and whispered something into her ear. Dana's eyes opened wide with realization. Dana stood up and walked up next to Shore and Tray. Nemo went back to his beloved and kneeled next to the bed to hold her hand as she exhaled her last breath. Tears streamed down everyone's face, human and sea people alike. When there were no more tears to weep, Tray spoke up. 

-We should get going, Dana. There's nothing we can do in here. 

-No, I'm staying.- she said reaching for Shore's hand.- I've found what I didn't know I was looking for. 

2/27/2014

A Story A Day. Story 54 of 365: Footprints (VII).

-You don't really believe her, do you?- Tray said as soon as they were out of the house.

-I don't know, Tray. A part of me tells me it is all bullshit, but there's another part of me telling me to listen to her, that she has answers.

-Answers to what?- replied him, somehow violently.

-I don't know Tray, but it's not going to hurt anyone if we go there tonight.

-Ok.- he conceded.- But we are having dinner first.

-Are you hungry, already?

-Drama makes me hungry.

-And then I'm the insensitive one.- Dana said heading to the inn.

They sat in the restaurant and ordered from the menu. Dana started playing around with the salad leaves, not even seeing her plate. Tray was gulping down his food until he realized that she was in another dimension.

-What bothers you?- he asked.

Dana looked at him, remembering that she was not alone.

-Can you imagine a love so strong? A love that no mater the distance, no mater the years of not seeing each other, still persists? The love that made him send her tokens just to tell her he was alive? Can you imagine the love it takes to let a son go? The pain of it all? Can you imagine what Genevieve has been through? All this years not seeing either her love or her child? Will we ever live it or have we lost the capacity to love like this? Will I ever live a love like that?

Tray was hurt, but he didn't let it show, he loved her more than he had loved anyone. He knew she was the one for him, but he also knew that he wasn't the one for her.

-You're tired, that's it, you should take some holidays after this. We could go somewhere warm and sunny. What do you say?

-Mmm, yes maybe you're right.- she said before going back to picking the food on her plate.

After a rather sad dinner, they went back to Genevieve's house. Dana lost in her thoughts, Tray too afraid to say anything that could stir the feelings inside her. Genevieve was waiting for them, she had lit a fire and made some tea. She took Dana by the arm and sat her next to the fire.

-Tray, dear, would you mind bringing some more firewood? They sell it in the house next to the police station, tell them it's for me.- she half-ordered, smiling.

Tray left without a reply, he knew she wanted to talk to Dana about something. As soon as he left she sat in front of Dana.

-What is it?

-Will I ever live a love like yours? I know it doesn't seem so, but I'm a romantic, but I'm also independent, so it's really hard to find a man who completes me. And you, you had this amazing love story, will I ever be able to have my own?

-Dear child, you never know.

Dana stared at the fire, wondering.

-What I am going to do with Tray?

-Don't you love him?

-I do, but not as much as I could love.

-Well, enjoy it and don't hurt him when you leave him. That's my only advice.

Tray came back shortly after with an armful of firewood. He set it aside and sat with the women. Genevieve shared stories of the town and they told her news from the big city. The sun set and Genevieve turned on the lights. Shortly after, they heard three knocks at the door.

2/26/2014

A Story A Day. Story 53 of 365: Footprints (VI).

Dana and Tray looked at Genevieve in incredulity, weighing her sanity. After all, she was an 85-year-old woman who went fishing every day. Genevieve was clearly enjoying it, waiting for their reaction with a confident smirk on her face.

-Excuse me.-said Tray, polite as ever.- Did you just say sea people?

-Yes, sea people.They don't come out of the ocean very often. And they've never hurt anyone. Of course, most people can't contact them, imagine the reaction of the people of the town if they knew what was really happening. The town would be flooded with media. For some reason they trust me, they feel safe.

-So, you met them the last time they came?- Dana asked.

-I did more than that. Let me explain you my story. When I was twenty-four I was a willful young woman, with a head full of dreams and a fierce sense of independence. I was orphaned and my grandmother raised me, she had an unhappy marriage, and she always told me not to get married until I were completely sure about it. As a result, when my friends were already nursing children, I was still free of any compromise. I used to live at night, I would roam the beach, looking for small treasures the ocean left there. I would also go out fishing on the fishing boats, learning invaluable skills, and also more than one scar. But it was my love for the sea at night what allowed me to met the sea people. They came in spring that year, I used to swim naked at night and, one day, suddenly I was no longer alone in the water. Even now, I'm surprised at how calm I was about it, I had heard the legends and I had the feeling that they didn't want to hurt me, so we swam together for a while. There were three of them, two men and a woman. Their skin was covered in dark blue scales and their eyes were dark yellow, with no white parts. One of them allowed me to touch him, it was completely smooth, but also a bit sticky, like the skin of sharks. From that day on they kept appearing, they wouldn't say anything, we only swam together, staring at each other. With the days I started to differentiate them, there was an older couple, the woman and one of the men, and then there was the one who had allowed me to touch his skin. I started calling him Nemo, like the captain in the book, later, he told me his name, but it was nothing I could pronounce. Nemo was obsessed with my hair, when I was young I had red flowing locks that I used to wear untied, but he was too ashamed to touch it in front of the others. One day he started coming alone. The first thing he did was timidly reach his hand for my hair. I laughed at it, and he laughed back, his teeth were pointy like a shark, they had to be to eat raw fish. There was a full moon that day and I could see his gills at the side of his neck. He started speaking a strange English, asking me things about live above water, and I explained him a lot of things, however, as usual, as soon as the first lights were visible on the horizon Nemo would leave. This lasted for weeks, and we fell in love. He was young, even younger than me, but I didn't mind, I knew it was real love, even if I knew it was impossible. I said we fell in love, but, apparently they fall in love instantly, they know who their partner is going to be the moment they lay eyes on her. It wasn't unusual for a sea man to fall in love with a human, but those used to go to a confined place where they would end their days alone. It was a sad future, and we didn't want to think about it. We kissed all the nights, and one day we decided to go one step further. I was still a virgin, people in here were still very traditional and sex before marriage was frowned upon. We swam all the way back to the beach, his first time on earth and lay down on the sand. Nemo explored every part of my body, I was a bit ashamed at first, but he was so curious, smelling, licking with his rough tongue, that I soon found myself on his body doing the same. When he got inside me it hurt, I'm not going to lie, but it was also the best thing that has ever happened in my life. He wasn't warm, but there was a warmth in it. He didn't come the next day, or the day after, only on the third day he appeared with the older couple. They were very angry, speaking fast on their language. Nemo translated me all of it. Apparently, they had banned him to go alone, but he had ignored orders and came regardless. But that was not the worst, Nemo told me that I was pregnant. I remember laughing at it, what would you do if someone told you something like that? But he was very serious, he told me that he would be there for the delivery, which was supposed to be after 3 months, but that he wouldn't be able to see me anymore. And that I wouldn't be able to keep my son, how would I explain it, anyway? I cried and cried in his arms, the salt water mixing with my tears. But I accepted their terms, I had loved at least once, I had found real love once, I could find it again. When Nemo translated my agreement to the older couple they just nodded and swam away. Nemo and I made love to each other for half of the night, the second and the last time that our bodies would touch. Before sunrise I promised him I would go to the beach each night, and he promised me that he would be there when the time came. Those months were miserable, I craved raw fish because of my pregnancy, but I couldn't have it, so I had to settle with all kinds of cooked fish. I also felt the need to spend more and more time inside the water, but I had things to do. At least, my pregnancy didn't show and I didn't have to suffer the suspicious stares of the town women. Exactly three months after I first made love with Nemo I felt the urgency to get inside the sea. At first, I shook it off as one of my strange cravings, but it was as if the ocean was pulling me. So I left everything I was doing and walked down the beach, I stripped naked and looked afraid at the sea. It was particularly wild that day, and there was still some daylight, so I knew Nemo wouldn't come for at least a full hour. I entered inside the water, feeling it pushing my belly, trying to get my son out. Nemo came as soon as the sun set and embraced me. We stayed together inside the water holding each other until I gave birth to our son. It wasn't traumatic, he was barely the size of my hand, but already fully formed and covered in the same scales his father had. Nemo took him lovingly and placed him inside a special bag over his stomach, sea people fathers took care of their children. I made him promise that he would name him something beautiful, and he told him he would name him Shore, in their language, because it was the place where earth and sea meet. He also promised me he would send me messages, so I could know they both were fine. And like that he left. He kept his promise and sea shells and other nice underwater treasures would appear in our beach every now and then. I meet a really nice man some years after that, and I married him, he accepted me as I was, with all my experiences, telling me that I had two husbands, one in the sea and the other on earth. Yet, he left me too. People die. And now, I'm the one who is dying, that's why Nemo and Shore are coming to visit me every night.

Dana was crying silent tears, clutching to Tray's arm. He was shacking his head in disbelief.


-Can we stay tonight?- she asked.

2/25/2014

A Story A Day. Story 52 of 365: Footprints (V).

Genevieve Foster lived in an old fisherman's house. It needed lots of repairs that the elderly woman probably couldn't afford. The paint on the wall had peeled off on most of it, as well as the one on the doors and window panes. However, Genevieve had managed to palliate the overall effect of decay, the flowers growing from pots everywhere gave it a fresh air. Tray knocked the door, and they both waited in silence for the door to open. After some minutes waiting they knocked again, but there wasn't any response either. They circled the house trying to see if the woman was home, but there was no sign of activity inside it.

-Now what?- Dana asked, she was clearly tired of it all.

-We can't leave without having asked her some questions, you know that. We'll have to wait until she comes back.

They sat on a bench next to the door, where a fat grey cat promptly joined them. Dana scratched it between its ears, and the cat purred and curled on her lap. Tray was staring at the sea, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, he was clearly daydreaming. Dana decided not to interrupt him and kept playing with the cat.

-You left me for last, I see.- an old woman carrying a bucket and a fishing stick approached them.- I'm Genevieve, and I see you have already met Admiral McWhiskers.- she signaled the cat on Dana's lap with her head.

Dana took the cat from her lap and left it on the bench, while Tray was already standing up to greet the woman.

-I'm special agent Williams and this is special agent Spencer.

-I know who you're already. I've seen you around while I was fishing.- Genevieve saw their surprised faces and added.- Oh, no, I don't sail. I go to the rocks and spend most of the morning in there, trying to catch something. I even have a chair in there permanently, sometimes the ocean takes it, but chairs are not that expensive. Some people in the town think I shouldn't be around fishing, but it keeps my mind clear, and what do I have to do, anyway?

Dana grinned at her warmly, she liked the woman, she decided. Tray was still staring, considering what he had to do with her. She looked at them both and winked.

-Let's go inside, I better clean the fish before it starts reeking.- she said showing them the bucket.

Genevieve's house was also modest in the inside. The door opened straight into a space that contained both the kitchen and the living room. She left the bucket in the sink and told them to sit on a small sofa next to the window.

-You're going to be tight, but I don't think this is the closer you have been either.

Both of them reddened to the roots of their hair, apparently it was quite evident that they were in a relationship. Genevieve looked at them amused and left for the kitchen without saying anything. Dana took Tray's hand and slipped her finger between his, he caressed her hair and kissed her cheek.

-She has caught us red-handed, didn't she?- Tray whispered.

Dana simply kissed him. When Genevieve came back they were already in full professional mode. She sat down on a chair in front of them, still wiping her hands.

-Genevieve, what can you explain us about the footprints?- Dana asked.


-I know them very well. Very, very well. I was still a young woman the last time the sea people walked the earth.  

2/24/2014

A Story A Day. Story 51 of 365: Footprints (IV).

It was lunch time and Dana and Tray had already eaten what felt like a thousand times. Every housewife they spoke to insisted on them sharing the table with their families, or on them trying some local speciality if they had already eaten. If it were necessary for them to spend much longer in that village they would also need new clothes. Unfortunately, food was the only thing they had obtained so far from their visits. No one had seen anything special or strange, except the footprints, of course. Some men joked about the sea people, seeing that it were old women's stories, and their wives, invariably, told them not to joke about the things they didn't know. Apparently, sea people lore was very extended in that zone, which was understandable taking into account the relationship they had with the sea. Long ago it had been a fishing village, but, by then, only the most stubborn old men would sail the seas in search of catch. The fish banks had been almost fished over long ago, and as soon as they recovered the big companies took the seas. The town was dying, the youngsters looking for a brighter future elsewhere. The only reason it survived was because the surfers seemed to like it, the waves where wild.

-Thank you a lot, Miss Murphy.- said Tray, as usual.

-Oh, call me Edna!

-Well, Edna. Thanks for the food.- he saw how Dana loosened her belt, that made him smile.- Everything was delicious.

-I'm glad at least I was useful for that, I wish I could have given you some more information.

-Don't worry, Edna.- intervened Dana, it was not like it was any different from all the other places they had been so far.

-You can come back anytime you want, you'll be always welcome in my house.- as all the other housewives so far, she said that from the bottom of her heart.

As soon as they had left the house and Edna had closed the door, Dana lead Tray closer to the sea.

-I swear that if I eat something else I will burst, now I understand why the sheriff is so fat.- she sat on the edge of the seafront.- Who's next?

-Let me check the list.- he said as he sat down next to her.

The sheriff had given them a list of the people who lived closer to the seafront, and those who where in the possible path of the footprints. Tray took it out of his pocket and looked at it closely.

-Do you have a pen? I think we should cross out the ones we have already visited.

Dana looked inside her bag and started taking things out. She was always very orderly with most of her stuff, but her bag was a mess, as she would throw everything inside without even looking. After a while she produced an orange pen. Tray had been staring at her amused. Dana caught him red handed.

-Here you are, mister. And don't look at me like this, it makes me wanna kiss you and we're working right now.

-Well,... we need a cover...- he said taking the pen she was handing him.

-Stupid!- she hit him playfully on his arm.- Everyone knows what we're doing in here.

-Mmmmm, too bad, I had the hope you'd fall for it, but you're too smart.

-Enough, back to work. Who's left?

-Ok, we've visited and eaten in almost all the directions the sheriff has given us. I think there is only one left, Genevieve Foster, an 85-year-old widower, who lives alone.- he took the map and checked the location of the address linked to the name.- She lives on that old house at the end of the seafront.

Dana looked at him.

-Do you really thing it's worth going there?

-Well, maybe there's still something that we need to try.- joked Tray.

-I'm serious, think about it, there is lots of work back at the central, and we would be much more useful there than we are here chasing after who knows what.- she was clearly concerned.

-Mmmm, here's what we are going to do. We'll talk to this Genevieve and we're going to spend the night guarding the seafront, to see if there is actually anything to be seen. If there's nothing we'll leave, with Evan's permit or without it.

She still looked unconvinced, he stood up, took her hand, and, after squeezing it, he pulled her back on her feet.

2/23/2014

A Story A Day. Story 50 of 365: Footprints (III).

The following day they both woke up at the first ring of the alarm. After dressing comfortably they headed for a quick warm breakfast before meeting the sheriff. Dana looked her age wearing some jeans and a thick dark red woolen sweater. Tray looked at her lovingly as she sipped the coffee, holding the mug with both hands.

-Did you take your gloves and cap?- he asked her.

-Oh, shit. I forgot.

-Don't worry, I'll pick them up.

Dana acted really differently when she was not wearing her usual work clothes. When she wore them it was as if she were wearing an armor, it was not like it was easy to get close to her heart when she wasn't, but the suit made her extra-reserved. He found the gloves and the cap carefully placed over the nightstand, he also saw her favorite scarf placed over a chair. Tray decided to take it, she was always cold, even if she pretended she wasn't. Dana was already waiting for him, and thanked him warmly. However, as soon as they got out of the inn, she was special agent Williams again. The sheriff was waiting for them at the front door of the police station. He showed them the way to the place where the footprints started. Dana and Tray looked at them closely, and took pictures of them, feeling silly for doing so. The three of them followed the footprints to the point they started to fade away.

-Anything special in that direction?- Dana asked.

-No, only houses.

-Do any surfers stay there?

-Not that I know.

-We'll go ask after. Thank you for your help.

Tray stared at her surprised, she was thanking someone without him having to remind her to do so. Since it was still really early in the morning they went back to the inn and asked the innkeeper for a good coffee shop. She gave them directions and they ended up in a cozy bakery where you could eat inside. It smelt like heaven, they shared a croissant and had their second coffee of the day. The air at the seafront had been cold and wet, and they were frozen to their bones.

-I meant it.- said Dana.- What I said last night.- she added after seeing the confusion in his eyes.- I know I've been rough to you, and that I haven't been always been the best of the girlfriends, but I really love you, and it's the first time I love someone so much.

Tray didn't say anything. What was there to say? He loved her, he knew that, but he needed proof that what she was saying was true, that it wasn't only because she thought she would lose him. He needed to know that she wouldn't be ashamed of making their relationship public, as she had been for all those months. Luckily, she changed topics spontaneously.

-Do you think Evan has sent us here to get rid of us?

-Why do you say that?

-There's nothing in here, that's clear.

-If there's nothing we just discover there's nothing and go back home.- said Tray.

-Or we could just,... stay for a few days more and take profit of it.

-You're not Dana. What have you done to her?- he joked.

Dana laughed, a clear and laid-back laughter.

-I don't know, it's the sea air that makes me feel adventurous. Okay, maybe we can't do that, but we should take profit of our time in here anyway. When do you think we can start annoying the neighbors?

-In an hour, or so?

-Good, I really need some time to try that warm chocolate I keep smelling.

2/22/2014

A Story A Day. Story 49 of 365: Footprints (II).

The inn happened to be close to the police station, although everything was close in that village. Too close, even. Tray opened the door for Dana, and she got in fuming, as she hated men opening doors for her. The innkeeper was a woman in her fifties, her hair dyed blond and her neck covered in fake pearls.

-Good evening, how can I help you?

-We have two rooms by the names Dana Williams and Tray Spencer.- Dana said shortly.

The woman took a book from a drawer on the table and looked at it.

-Yes, here it is. But I'm afraid it will need to be a double room. We are quite full at the moment, winter is a good time for surfers.

-Great, I'm surrounded by idiots.- Dana said under her breath, she then turned to the woman.- Two beds, I expect.

-Yes, ma'am, two beds. The room is on the second floor.- she said as she handed them the key.- Breakfast is from six to ten, lunch from twelve to two, dinner from six to eight. If you need anything else don't hesitate to call to the reception, my name is Mary.

-Thanks a lot, Mary.- smiled Tray, as Dana started for the stairs.

She was already setting her things in place when he entered the room.

-You could be a bit more nice to people, you know?

-Like, you, you mean?

-Dana,...

-Shut up.

They finished unpacking and headed downstairs, the inn restaurant was already closed, so they went around to search for something to eat. They were lucky enough to find a small italian restaurant where they were still serving food. Dana ordered gnocchi with parmesan sauce and Tray a goat cheese pizza with olives and bell peppers.

-So, what do you think?- Tray broke off.

-I think that the footprints are probably from the surfers, they go in the afternoon barefoot and return barefoot, because it is in the afternoon the water doesn't have time to dry. That, or we will need to play ghostbusters.- she added in anger, sticking her fork violently on an innocent gnocchi.

Tray looked at her. Her grey eyes focused on the plate, her dark hair tied up tightly on a bun, not a trace of make up on her skin. And that frown that she had had for the last two days. He sipped some of the wine he was having.

-Dana,...- she didn't interrupt him this time.-Dana, listen, I'm sorry.

Her eyes pierced him.

-You should have thought about it before, then.

-Dana, I didn't think there was anything wrong with Evan knowing about our relationship. He already suspected it.

-He is our boss, Tray!

-You're not mad about this, you're mad because it made you look weak. As if you were not a heartless machine. But do you know how it makes me feel? Have you ever wondered?

Dana was clutching the tablecloth tightly, looking at her hands not to have to look at him.

-Dana, look at me.

She raised her head. His dark green eyes were full of tears, full of pain. His smooth olive skin wrinkled with anguish. Dana reached her hand out, and cupped his face, his dark blond hair brushing the tips of her fingers.

-I had no idea. I love you, Tray. I really do. It's just that, sometimes, I need to have everything under control.

They finished eating in silence, and even ordered dessert, a pannacotta for her, a tiramisu for him. Still in silence they walked to the inn and got in their respective beds.

-Good night, Tray.

-Good night, Dana.

-We will get through it, I promise.

He didn't reply, wondering if they could ever make it work.

2/21/2014

A Story A Day. Story 48 of 365: Footprints (I).

Damp footprints along the seafront before first light. No one knew who or what had made them. They were clearly human, although they were bigger than the average human feet.  They had appeared during a cold winter morning, out of the blue, and they had kept appearing from then. No one knew where the things, because there were clearly more than one, went, as the footsteps started fading away before they arrived to where the first houses were.

Special agents Williams and Spencer arrived mid-afternoon a month after the footsteps had started appearing. It wasn't their usual field of investigation, but apparently the mayor had been really insistent. Dana Williams looked annoyed, her grey eyes had a sharp edge. Tray Spencer, on the contrary, had a guilty air over him. She lead the way, not even checking if he was following. Dana was a couple of inches taller than Tray, mainly because of the heels she usually wore, that and the dark suit she dressed in, made her look older than the twenty-six she was.

-Dana.- Tray stopped her, catching his breath.

-I haven't given you permission to call me Dana, agent Spencer.

Dana was his superior, although they had the same rank. Tray looked at her surprised, but kept the composure.

-You have never told me not to, agent Williams.

-Take this as a start.- she restarted her walk.

Tray looked hopelessly at her. He was older, just past thirty, and what women usually called attractive. He was not as brilliant as Dana, he knew that, but he was quite good. And they had been a good team, until then. Dana was already at the door of the local police station, waiting for him.

-Hurry up, Spencer.

As soon as he arrived, Dana opened the door and headed to the counter. It was a really small station, barely the counter, a couple of chairs in front of it and an office some meters behind it.

-We are special agents Williams and Spencer.- she said to the agent behind it, showing him her plaque.- We are coming here for the footprints.

The young man raised from his chair.

-I'll call the sheriff, please take a seat.

As the agents waited sitting on some uncomfortable plastic chairs, he hurried into an office. Tray shifted uncomfortably on the seat.

-Agent Williams,...

-Not, now.- Dana replied severely.

-But, I...

-I said, not now.- she gave him a stare that left him frozen from the inside, he had seriously screwed up.

A fat man with grayish hair appeared from the office. They both raised from their chairs, as it was clear that he was the authority there. The sheriff approached them, affably.

-So, you're the agents they are sending for this crazy thing, uh?- he was only talking to Tray.- I'm Tomas Holt, but you can call me Tom.

-Thank you, sheriff Holt.- said Dana coldly.- I am special agent Dana Williams and he is special agent Tray Spencer. I am in charge of the operation.

The sheriff looked at her for the first time and shrugged his shoulders.

-Times change, I guess.

He lead them to his office. It was full of newspapers clippings and old pictures. Some of them appeared to be of the sheriff in his youth. He offered them coffee, but they declined. After sitting down, the sheriff spoke.

-What do you know about the case?

-That there are some unexplained footprints appearing every morning on the sidewalk. And that the mayor is very insistent and convinced our superior to send someone in here.- "And we were the ones he hated the most" Dana added internally.

-Well, this is a very small town, as you'll have seen. Most of the people is old people, and they are very alarmed by it. There are some midwife tales talking about sea monsters and sea people, and some people around here believe them. Nothing ever happens in here, so the police station is small, it's only me and Richards outside, we don't need more. Most of the time we're solving petty fights.

-We will take care of it from here. Can we meet tomorrow morning to see the footsteps?- asked Dana standing up.

-Yes, of course, we can meet at six-thirty here.

-Thank you sheriff.- said Tray, shaking his hand. He was always the one with the courtesies.

He and Dana headed outside in silence, they walked side by side along seafront, the wind howling on their ears. Tray finally decided to break the silence.

-So, what do you make out of it?

Dana stopped, her stare lost on the ocean.

-I don't know. We better talk it over dinner.

-We should probably look for our inn, too.

-Great, an inn.- she replied, frowning.





2/20/2014

Why do I write in English?

I don't know how evident it is, but, English is not my first language. I think it should be considered my third, but I consider it my second because I use it more than Spanish, although I could consider it my first because there are times I use it even more than Catalan. So, why would I decide to write in a language that is not really my own one?

I know I could do a quick Google search in here and add a paragraph on how other authors wrote in languages that were not their own, but I'm lazy and I do research on other topics for a living so I won't be looking for it. In my case, I started writing in Catalan, but as I became better at English (both grammar and vocabulary) I started using the language more and more. The next step was only logical, writing stories in English. At first, I did it as a practice, I was preparing for CPE exam and I wanted to write as much as I could. After that, well, I had already started, it was not like I could stop it. I also think that, writing in English, my stories can reach out to more people. I could write them in Catalan and potentiate my first language, but as much as I love it, I can't feel it for writing. I could also write in Spanish, yet, I have never felt it my own, not as much as I do with English.

Bottom line, I write in English because there is a special part inside my crazy brain that tells me it is okay to do so. And who am I to contradict my own brain?

A Story A Day. Story 47 of 365: Space.

Going to space had always been Dan's dream. Every little boy and girl want to be astronauts at some point in their lives. But Dan had wanted to be an astronaut from the start. All the gifts he ever received had been space related, he knew everything you could know about space, and, as soon as he was old enough, he started a complete physical training. He also studied a lot, focusing in physics and mathematics. His life wasn't much outside his astronaut pretensions, and his mother always told him that obsessions weren't good, that he needed to go out and meet other people. The only friends he had were people he had met in space-related online forums, and he had never met them in real life. Whenever he had time he would spend it on the internet talking about his dreams and other people's dreams.  

When he finally entered the astronaut training program, he was in seventh heaven. He called his family and he talked about it with his online friends. Dan was seeing himself up in space. He passed all the tests he went through, both physical and intellectual, and he was scheduled to take part on the following space mission. He, seriously, was going to space. Some weeks before his anticipated departure he went to the gym for his regular training. 

Dan woke up in a hospital bed some days later. He had had a heart attack because of a previously unidentified heart condition. He would never be able to go to space. And his world crumbled at that very moment.

2/19/2014

A Story A Day. Story 46 of 365: Fever.

She could feel the temperature dropping more and more every second. The chills running through her body. The hospital bed sheets were always cold and rough. She called the nurse, told her she had fever again. As she had for the last year and a half. She had spent all that time in the hospital, and no one knew what was causing the fever. Or a way to stop it.

The nurse came back with more blankets, it was the only thing she could do. She didn't remember how feeling warm felt, pleasantly warm, that is, she knew too well the feeling of the fever decreasing. Some days she would stare through the window, wondering how much longer would she need to be in the hospital, how much longer would she have to endure the constant cold.

2/18/2014

A Story A Day. Story 45 of 365: Louis.

The day Louis broke up with her was the worst day in Theresa's life. She hadn't expected it. She thought everything was perfect in their relationship because it was as it had ever been. She cried and shouted telling him that she had left everything aside for him; her friends, her hobbies, everything. That he was everything she had left in her life. Louis shook his head and told her that was the reason why he was leaving her. Because she had become a parasite, the only thing she could talk about was them, and how much she loved him. It was tiring, to have the undivided attention of someone so boring. Theresa paled when she heard it, she had never considered herself a boring person, but obsession does that to people, sometimes.

Even with all that, she seemed to recover out of it pretty well. Some of it had to do with Louis moving out to another city. People from her work would tell her that she was nice, but she didn't socialize much. No one had been at her place, but she had been to some of her coworkers homes sometimes. They always said that she would leave work on time, do grocery shopping and go back home until the next day. She was lonely, but happy.

Theresa opened the door of her home as usual.

-Hi, sweetie, I'm home!- she called out, knowing there would be no answer.

She left the shopping bags in the kitchen and headed to the living room, where she kissed Louis in the front.

-You're stinking again. I need to buy more air freshener.

The corpse didn't say anything, it just stared at her with his dead eyes.

2/17/2014

A Story A Day. Story 44 of 365: Rivers.

He cried as he scattered her ashes next to the place they had first met. It was a stone bridge over a small river in the country-side. He remembered that day, he was a drenched hitchhiker who looked miserable under the pouring rain. He was hopelessly lost and was already thinking about finding himself a dry place to spend the night. She appeared like a vision on her battered pick-up. When she heard his story, she took pity of him and invited him to her parents farm.

It hadn't been love at first sight, in fact, they had been friends for a long time, visiting each other frequently, until they realized they belonged together.

He was just recovering from a very bad break up when she convinced him to visit her. It would make him feel better, she insisted. She took him hiking to the hills next to her place, they camped by the lake, they swam naked, they talked over the fire. And he discovered she was the love of his life. He told her as they walked back to the farm. She only replied that she would think about it. He spent the following week in misery, thinking she had rejected him, but, when she appeared unannounced, he knew that the feeling was mutual.

Life had been cruel with them, they were only discovering their love when cancer struck. All the doctors agreed, there was nothing they could do to save her. He devoted all his time to make her happy, to make her forget the pain, to live what they had left at the fullest. And now that she was gone he didn't have anything.

2/16/2014

A Story A Day. Story 43 of 365: Longing.

It was a cold winter morning, Clay, as usual, had gone to the port to see how the ships left. He had to wake up early to do so, but  he never slept much anyway. The nightmares and the pain would wake him up every night until he decided to get out of bed. He would walk, slowly, towards the port, smelling in anticipation the sea salt. The fishermen, passing by his side, greeted him, smiling, some of them, the oldest, even walked with him for some meters, telling him about their plans for the day, about how big their catch was going to be that day.

By sunrise they all would be on their ships while Clay stared at the boats with longing. He wished he were young again, he had two good hands and two good feet. He wished his muscles were still strong and answered to his orders. Yet, that time had past and the was condemned to wait for his death, earthbound.

2/15/2014

A Story A Day. Story 42 of 365: Boredom.

Natasha was bored, not momentaneily bored, she was bored of her life, of him. Richard was her longest-lasting relationship so far. The main reason for it was that he was ridiculously rich and he could afford all the extravagancies she needed to enjoy life. Like that trip to Paris just to buy new clothes at the Champs-Élysées boutiques. They had flown there with one of his private jets, and that made Natasha reconsider her idea of leaving him, where would she find someone else willing to fly her overseas just to go shopping?

She tried on a night dress, the dark blue silk went with her eyes. She liked what she saw, she was thin, but not model thin, she had the kind of body that makes men of all ages turn their heads, and women pale of envy. She could have been a model, actually she had left Russia to become one, but once in the States, she had realized that being in relationships with rich men was much more lucrative. And she needed to starve less. Natasha brushed her long honey colored hair aside to see the back of the dress, she was still pretty taned from their vacations in the Seychelles. 

Richard appeared through the dressing room door at that very moment. He wasn't handsome. He wasn't ugly, either. The best way to describe him was elegant, even then, when he wasn't wearing a suit, he looked dressed up. He looked at Natasha smiling with those mocha-colored eyes of him. That was the first thing Natasha had noticed about the media mogul, and the one that made her fall in love with him. He approached Natasha and embraced her from behind. Natasha felt him kissing her ear. That was the other thing that made her think twice about breaking up with him, the sex. It was just fantastic, their bodies responded to the other's as if they had been made to measure. Richard whispered something at her, but she was so distracted thinking about what would happen in the night to pay attention. 

-What did you say?- she asked as soon as she realized he was expecting a reply. 

-I have to leave for New York. 

She broke her embrace. 

-But, you said we would stay here for a week.- she was angry and her Russian accent showed up. 

-I know, mmmm... Know what? You stay here and I'll come back as soon as  everything is solved. 

Some days alone in Paris, that would be fantastic! Natasha's eyes glistened with excitement. 

-Oh! Really? Yes! 

Richard smiled and started making preparations so Natasha could do whatever she pleased, they, then, went back to the hotel in Place de la Vendôme, where Richard picked up the most important things before going back home. 

Natasha had four days all for herself, she decided she would visit things. That same afternoon the driver took her to the Louvre. It was impressive from the outside, the classic building with the glass pyramids in front. But what was better was the inside. She went straight to visit the Mona Lisa, but after that she got lost inside the exhibits going from Ancient Egypt to Mesopotamia, to all kinds of paintings and sculptures. The beauty of it all took her breath away. In front of the Venus de Milo there was an art student sketching on a notebook, his drawing skills were impressive. She was so focused on his drawing that she didn't realize he was staring at her. 

-You're even more beautiful that the Venus.- he said with thick French accent. 

-Oh, thanks, you're very kind.-Natasha replied blushing. 

-My name is Pierre, by the way. I'm an artist, but I'm also an art student at Sorbonne, my parents insisted.- he shrugged his shoulders. 

-I'm Natasha. 

-So, new in town, Natasha?- he picked his things up to leave. 

-Only visiting. 

-Oh! I could be your tourist guide. I love showing my beautiful city to beautiful ladies. 

Natasha looked at him closely. He was around her age, he has clever green eyes and a half smile. His blond hair fell in curls over his forehead. He wasn't rich, that was clear. He was wearing a pair of paint-stained worn-out jeans and a plain white t-shirt. It couldn't hurt, she decided, after all was there anyone better to show her the city than a Parisian? 

-Ok, show me around. 

-Great!- he said clapping his hands.-Where are you staying? I'll pick you up after university, around 1pm. 

-I'm at the Ritz, in Place de la Vendôme. 

-Wow! Someone likes to be spoiled,...-he joked. 

They walked outside and Natasha told the driver to go back to the hotel. She and Pierre walked through the Tulleries gardens in the low sun of the summer afternoon. Pierre took her to her hotel and reminded her about their date. He looked out of place in the elegant hotel hall, she kissed him on one cheek thanking him for the walk back. 

The following morning, Natasha woke up surprised to be alone. She couldn't remember when was the last time she had been alone in a bed. As a kid she would share it with her siblings, when she first moved to the States she shared a room with another Russian girl who was as used to share beds as she was, and from that moment on there had always been a lover in her sheets. She stretched across the bed taking as much space as she could. She bathed filling up the bath tub with bubbles, the warm water made her sleepy again, and, although she knew it wasn't good, she fell asleep again. She woke up when the water was already cold, she showered to get out all the foam out of her body and headed for breakfast, when she realized it was lunch time already. She had a quick lunch at the hotel's restaurant and sat on the hall waiting for Pierre. Her outfit was casual, a light summer dress and sandals, she knew Pierre wouldn't take her to fancy places. 

Exactly at 1pm, Pierre arrived. He was wearing acid washed jeans and a white paint stained t-shirt. He was also carrying two helmets. He threw one at her, who barely caught it.

-Ready for adventure?- he smiled, crookedly. 

-Yes, I guess. 

-They walked out of the hotel into the hot midday sun. Pierre had parked his old Vespa on the sidewalk. They climbed on it and he drove the to their first destination: Nôtre-Dame. Natasha had seen pictures of it, but none would actually show how breathtaking it was, or the queue there was to get in. She did her best not to look disappointed. 

-Isn't it a bit, cliché?-she asked.

-How many times have you been inside it with an art student? 

She fell into silence. "Just once, with Vladimir" she thought.

-I thought so.- said Pierre suficiently.

He guided her through it, finding a way to skip the queue. He was a source of knowledge, having explanations about even the smallest details. Natasha was enjoying it a lot, both for the guided tour and for the memories that arose. After that he took her to the Luxembourg gardens, new for her, where she was in awe with the variety of plants that were around. They sat on a bench at the sun. Natasha closed her eyes feeling the sunshine kissing her skin. 

-Wanna see my favorite place in Paris?- she heard Pierre ask from far, far away, she made an effort to open her eyes. 

-Mmm, yes...

He drove her back next to the Seine, where he left his motorcycle along with the helmets. He told her they wouldn't be needing them again. For being a Parisian, he really enjoyed walking around. They walked through the streets until they got to a big fountain. Pierre stoped there. 

-Here we are, place Saint Michel. 

Natasha looked at it. It was beautiful and different from everything around, but she didn't understand what made it so special. She looked at him clueless. 

-I know, you don't understand, I get it, no one ever understands. I like it because I like it, because it makes me calm. And because it's beautiful, I don't really need any other reason. 

Natasha looked at it silently, leaving the boy lost in his thoughts while his stare was fixed on the statues. All the sudden Pierre seemed to wake up again, renewed. 

-Ok, you're going to like the next one. 

They walked along the river, checking out the second-hand book stalls until they reached a pedestrian bridge. It was covered in padlocks, she already knew that. 

-Lovers come to lock their love, or something.- said Pierre somehow bitterly. 

-You don't believe in love? 

-I do, but I don't believe in the way they make us believe love is. Love is beauty, not pain. 

They crossed the bridge, looking at random padlocks and wondering if those names would still go together. Natasha knew the answer for at least one of them, her own and Vladimir's. They walked by the Louvre, again, and trough the Tuilleries gardens to the Place de la Concorde. As they approached Natasha's hotel she insisted on inviting him for dinner in one of the excellent, and ultraexpensive, restaurants next to her hotel. 

-But, I'm not dressed appropiately.-he complained. 

-Don't worry, Richard has left some of his stuff behind, it should suit you well enough. 

-Are you sure? 

-Yes, come on, there are separate dressing rooms. 

Pierre was impressed by the opulence of it all, it was not only that there were separate dressing rooms, there were two separate rooms. The whole suite was at least five times bigger than his own apartment. Natasha picked up a summer dark grey suit, a white shirt and a tie a shade lighter than the suit for him, while he tried on some shoes. Apparently he and Richard used the same number. Natasha left the room to get changed, while Pierre tried to figure out how to wear all that without looking uncomfortable. He was in the process of strangling himself with the tie when Natasha appeared through the door. She was wearing a knee long flowy pink dress that made her tanned skin stand out. She approached him and tied the tie without saying anything, he saw she was wearing heels as she was almost his height then. As soon as she was done she stepped back to contemplate her masterpiece. 

-Not bad, you should comb your hair, though. 

He smiled, but replied. 

-The next thing I know, if I do it, is you'be taken me to a make-over TV show. 

He offered her his arm and they walked to the restaurant. Natasha ate as if she had never eaten in her life, wanting to try everything on the menu. Pierre looked at her in awe, how could such a thin girl eat so much? 

-So, tell me, what happened with the girl of the padlock?

-Which girl? 

-Don't lie to me. There was a girl you loved, one who went to the Pont des Arts and locked your names together, wasn't it?

-Yes. 

-So? 

-We had been dating for ages, we were young, and I was foolish, and I left university to go around Europe with her. I wanted her to marry me, I was thinking about the best time to propose, when I found her in bed with my best friend. 

Natasha reached for his hand over the table, but stopped just before touching him. 

-You'll find someone else. 

He smiled sadly before dessert arrived. They started eating in silence. 

-Do you mind if I ask you a favor?- Pierre said. 

-Go ahead. 

-I want to paint you. 

-Why not? It could be fun.- she replied not even considering it for a second. 

-So, can I sketch you tomorrow afternoon? I don't have class tomorrow morning so I'll show you around in the morning and we can go to my studio afterwards. Don't worry, I share it with other painters.

She smiled in agreement. After she charged the bill on Richard's credit card, they went back to the hotel where Pierre changed back to his clothes. He left after wishing her good night and reminding her about their meeting time. The following morning Natasha was up at 8am sharp, she had a fast shower and dressed into something comfortable; a pair of shorts, a tank top and some sneakers. She felt younger dressed that way. Pierre took her to Montmatre. They left the Vespa and climbed the stair to the Sacré-Coeur, sugar white at the top of the hill. Natasha was glad about her outfit choice, it did look as if they would be walking a lot that morning. They got themselves lost between the tourists. 

-Natasha!- a deep man's voice shouted. 

Her blood froze in her veins as a shiver went down her spine. She was doomed, yet she had been hoping for that moment from the same second she had set her feet in Paris again. 

-Vladimir.- she said softly. 

She hadn't seen him in ages. Leaving him behind to chase the American dream as he had done to chase his own. He was as handsome as ever. His ice grey eyes met her dark blue ones and she knew she wouldn't be going back ever again. 

2/14/2014

A Story A Day. Story 41 of 365: Valentine (Part II)

Valentine was running late for class, again, he was the rising star of the football team and the coach always made him train extra. Furthermore, the cheerleaders always managed to find their way close to him, delaying him even more. The locker room was his sanctuary, and also the place of his most hidden desire; Adam. He was the third reason for his lateness. The fourth was that scrawny girl, one year his junior, she had big brown eyes, so big they were scary, and curly brown hair. And she looked at him in the same way a hungry puppy would look at its owner. Valentine wondered how long would it take her to realize he was not interested.

When he thought it was finally over, the notes began. She would tell him how wonderful he was, and how the world was a better place only because he was around. The notes crept him out. He imagined what Adam would think if he did the same. But, again, his case was different, he had never been atracted to a boy before, and he knew no one who was gay. He was a bit scared about it all, and he didn't dare ask for help to his ultraconservative parents. His mother, however, sensed something was wrong.

-Valentine, you look a bit weary of late, is there any girl making you lose sleep?

-No, mother, is just that I have so much to do. School, football, church,...

-You know, son, that you can leave football anytime you want.

-Oh, no! I really like football, mother, I will find a way to organize my time better.

Football was his only excuse to see Adam, if his parents took that away from him he would die.

-You better do, you know you have to become a doctor and grades are important.

-Yes, mother.

He didn't want to be a doctor, there was nothing he hated more than the idea of becoming a doctor. Yet, he had to pretend, to keep his parents happy.

The week before Valentine's Day the nightmare began. Dozens of notes and postcards of his admirers, all of them with the original idea of writing "Be mine, Valentine". And the queen of the stalkers was also intensifying her chase. He wished he could tell someone his real feelings. Luckily, the ocasion to do so appeared earlier than he thought. 

One day, during lunch, one of his best friends, who had known him since they were in kindergarten, asked him who would he take on a date on VD. 

-What do you mean date?

-C'mon, look at you, you're barely eating,  it's clear you're in love. Who is it? Angelica? 

Angelica was head cheerleader and every boy in the school liked her. 

-No, it's not her.- he stopped for a second, pondering his options.-If I tell you something, will you keep the secret? 

-Oh my god! It's not Patricia, is it?

-Who?!

-The girl who follows you everywhere!

-Of course, it's not her! 

-So, who is it? 

-Promise me. 

-I promise.

-Adam.

-Adam, like in Adam the coach's assistant?- he raised his voice in surprise.

-Shh! Yes! 

-But,... He's much older than you. And he's a guy. 

-I know.- Valentine said lowering his gaze.

-Well man, what you do with your life is none my business, if it makes you happy...

Valentine was relieved to hear those words. At least, he had some support. 

The rest of the week continued without change, Valentine received a ton of chocolates he had to give away because of his lactose intolerance. Girls had become too much to bear, and the only thing mattered for him was to find a way to get closer to Adam. He had invented all kinds of excuses just to stay for a bit longer in the locker room, but they were never alone. 

Valentine's Day arrived, and with it a note from Patricia asking him to meet her at the gym that afternoon. That gave him an idea, maybe he would be able to talk to Adam alone, wasn't love what all that day was about, in the end? 

During football practise Valentine managed to fall awkwardly on his leg and faked a bad injury. Since Adam was acting as the team's physio, he took him inside the changing room to bandage his leg. Valentine followed him limping. He sat on a bench while Adam searched for bandages. Adam looked so focused while applying ice to Valentine's sprained leg, that he wanted to kiss him right away. 

-Hum, Adam? 

-Yes.- he said from his position, kneeled on the floor. 

-It's not actually that bad. 

-It was a nasty fall, it must hurt some. 

-It does, but I needed to talk to you. Alone. 

-What about?- the young man asked. 

Valentine took a deep breath looking into his brown eyes, feeling his hands, warm and dark, against the white skin on his leg. 

-I like you, Adam. 

He smiled, with those thick black lips Valentine needed so badly. He incorporated and kissed the younger boy.  Valentine was startled, he had not expected that, but he let himself go. 

-No one can know this.- whispered Adam into his ear before leaving. 

Valentine was left alone smiling stupidly to himself. He was still in clouds when the time came for his date with Patricia. When he arrived to the gym, no one was in sight. 

-Hello! Is there anybody here?- he asked hoping no one would reply. But there she was, she had dressed up prettily, but she was not a beautiful girl. 

-So, it's you.

-Yes.- she almost swallowed her tongue, trying to get that single word out. 

-I knew. Listen, I...- he thought about Adam and their kiss.-Well, I don't like you. 

He wanted to add something more, but suddenly all the noise in the world concentrated inside the building under construction. 

The rescue crew found the two bodies under the rubble, one next to the other.


2/13/2014

A Story A Day. Story 40 of 365: Valentine (Part I)

Patricia had fallen in love with Valentine the moment she had laid her eyes on him. He was so perfect, like a god, and he had such a romantic name! She couldn't stop admiring him; his varonile hands, his clear eyes, his smooth black hair, his smile. He was a year older than she was, and that made him experienced, in her eyes, and also unatainable. It was Patricia's first love, a teenage love, and, as she felt it, the only possible one.

She followed him around whenever she met him in the corridor. The teachers started telling her off because of her unprecedented lateness. And Valentine didn't seem to notice her. One day, Patricia's mother, worried about her daughter's behavior, asked her if anything was amiss. 

-Nothing, mum.-she replied. 

-Are you sure? I'm your mother, you can tell me anything. 

Patricia paused to think and decided it couldn't hurt to tell her. 

-Well,... There's this boy, Valentine, whom I really REALLY like. He's so handsome, mum! I think I'm in love!- she blurted out in excitement.

-Oh, sweetie! It is okay to like boys and everything, but you're only fourteen and you need to focus on school a bit more,... 

-But, but, Jenny has a boyfriend! 

-And if Jenny jumps off a bridge, you will too? 

Patricia fell into sullen silence.

-Look, sweetheart. I'm not saying you can't like him, but just don't leave your studies aside or you're going to regret it. Maybe not now, but someday.- she stoped talking for a second.-Ok, that's what we will do, you focus on your studies, and I'll help you out with this boy, okay?

The following days Patricia's mother would ask her about her progress, if she had already talked to him. She would also give Patricia tips to make him notice her, but her daughter was too shy for half of them. The only thing she dared to do was leave him notes on his locker, and she never signed them. 

Valentine's Day was approaching and she decided it was the right time to let him know her feelings. After all, he was named Valentine. She left him notes twice a day that week, and sent him chocolates three days before Saint Valentine's. She finally braved up and sent him a note asking him to meet her in the gym on the anticipated day. 

The gym was under construction still, lacking parts of the roof. It wasn't a romantic place, but she could be sure no one would be around. 

Patricia wore one of her best dresses that day, a pretty red dress, tied on the back with a white ribbon. People complimented her on it, as she didn't usually take too much care of her outfit. When the time of the date came, she hurried to the gym. She was nervous, her heart pounding in her ears. Would he come? Would he laugh at her? She wouldn't be able to bear the mocking that would come after a rejection, she knew that. If he laughed at her, she would flee as fast as she could as far as possible. While standing inside the gym she heard what she had been expecting for so long; his voice. 

-Hello! Is there anybody here? 

She approached him shyly. A flicker of recognition crossed Valentine's gaze. 

-So, it's you.

-Yes.-she managed to say. 

-I knew.- he sighed.- Listen, I... well, I don't like you.- he said straightforwardly. 

He opened his mouth to say something else, but she couldn't hear anything that wasn't the rush of blood that had gone to her head. 

2/12/2014

A Story A Day. Story 39 of 365: Causalities.

"That day started like any other day. Her alarm clock went off just before 7am waking me up, as usual I had to shake her until she opened her eyes. She gave me a dangerous smile, I knew what it meant. Trouble. I'd like to say that we made love, but it wasn't like that, we fucked. Quenching our thirst of the other's body. If I had known it would be the last time I touched her, I would had loved her slowly, kissing each hidden spot of her body.

I stayed in bed while she started her day, I listened to her as she showered and had breakfast. Before leaving she came back to the room and kissed me goodbye. She looked so sexy in uniform. She was so beautiful, she had pulled her hair up in a tight ponytail and that made her eyes stand out even more. She turned around as she was crossing the door and waved me goodbye. With that image in my mind I went back to sleep, I had night shift that day. 

Night shift days used to be slow days, I needed to get as much sleep as I could. She came back mid-afternoon, and told me about her day. Then she joined me for early dinner, we ate talking about stupid things that didn't matter. When we were done my patrol partner called me. He was sick and wouldn't be able to make it. I complained about it, it was impossible I could find anyone to go with me in such a short notice. Unless, I asked her. For sure, she had been doing office work for a long time by then, she had ended up tired of field work, but she was still one of the best. It was hard to convince her, she argued that her skills would be rusty, but after calling our boss we ended up convincing her to come along. In the end she was eager to get some action. 

We entered in the undercover car and drove to the bar where the mafia was operating. It wasn't the kind of bar we used to go, but I thought we blended in quite well. Until she grabbed me by the arm and hurried me to leave. We tried to walk calmly out of the bar, but I could see what I hadn't seen before: suspicious stares from dangerous men. We got in the car and almost inmediately a van started chasing us. We called the police station, but they weren't fast enough. I remember jumping stop signs and red lights, and the mountain road. And waking up inside the car, trees all around. And the blood, so much blood, my blood, her blood. Mainly hers. 

And the glassy look in her eyes, drifting to unconciousness. A look that stayed with her, in the hospital, where they shaved her head to treat her, and where she was drugged to avoid pain. She stayed in that state for a couple of days, until she woke up to utter her last words "I love you". I remember myself screaming from pain, from physical pain and from the pain of losing her. Of having killed her." 

When Sean finished reading he and the doctor had tears in their eyes. 

2/11/2014

A Story A Day. Story 38 of 365: Scars.

After that drunken episode that had ended with a total count of twenty beers drank, he had promised himself, and the nurse, he wouldn't do it again. But, then, when her face appeared in his dreams, alcohol was the only way to make it go away. His psychiatrist would tell him that it wasn't the right way to deal with grief, but it wasn't grief, it was guilt.

-You don't understand it.- he would tell the doctor.

-Sean, I've seen lots of cases, but I need you to let me help you. Why are you saying that you killed her?

-Because I did, doctor, I did it!

He stood up and started walking up and down the room.

-She wasn't supposed to be with me. I begged for her to come along, that's why I killed her, that's why it is my fault. I knew it could be dangerous, but nothing had ever happened. And it happened that day, and she is dead because of me.

-It was an accident.- the doctor interfered.

Sean stopped pacing and stared at him in confusion.

-There's no such thing, there are no accidents. We both had risked our lives on a daily basis at some time in our life. We both knew we could die eventually, specially me, but she wasn't supposed to be there with me that evening, her death was senseless, I was the one who was working, not her. If she had stayed at home she would be alive. Maybe I would be dead, but she deserved to live more than I did.

-You need to stop punishing yourself for surviving.

-I'm not punishing myself for surviving, I'm punishing myself for killing her.

The doctor finally gave up.

-Sean, I want you to think about everything that happened that night. And I want you to write it down as it happened, then you'll hand it to me and we will go through it together, alright?

-Why would I do that?- Sean said, defiantly.

-Because I'm your doctor and I tell you so. You need to rely on me if you ever want to get better, Sean.- his voice softened as he spoke.- Will you do it?

Sean nodded after leaving the room. Maybe it is not such a bad idea, maybe it would give everything some kind of closure, it would help the scars in his mind heal.

When he got home he sat down on the kitchen table in front of a blank piece of paper, he had never been a good writer, that he knew, and he wondered if he would be able to put down in words what happened that night. As the ink flowed so did his tears, by the time he was done his eyes where dry again. He took the pile of papers and folded them neatly, he was still not ready to read it, not on his own, at least.

2/10/2014

A Story A Day. Story 37 of 365: Glass.

Sue had inherited that glass figurine, along with her name, from her maternal grandmother. Well, she called it figurine to call it something, and no one would have ever guessed it was glass from the way it looked. It was a solid black cylinder, smooth as polished stone. She weighted it with her hands, it was surprisingly heavy for its size. The sunlight revealed the ripples inside of it and it made it look like solidified black smoke.

"I hope this one isn't a bore like the last one" thought Devin. He had been trapped inside the glass for centuries, passing from hand to hand. A magician had captured him back in the middle ages and condemned him to tedium. Devin thought it was a cruel punishment, after all he only was a demon who wanted to have fun. And those humans were so dull. Sure, there had been a couple who had led interesting lives. He remembered fondly the governor who would preach for marriage sanctity and keep a couple of mistresses at the same time, oh, the wicked things they did. Then, there was the girl who looked all sweet and harmless, but was an assassin, and a pretty good one she was, too bad they killed her so early. He had liked her. Still, most humans were dull, and he only got to see people eating or having petty fights. More than once he wished someone broke the glass containing him, giving him release from that torture, even if it meant going back to hell.

Sue put it down on the table and stared at it. Where was she supposed to put it? Her grandmother had been very fond of that... thing. She thought about stuffing it into a closet and forget about it. However, she had a change of heart at the very last minute when she was already pondering where did she have space to hide it.

"Phew, that was close". Devin tried to imagine how insufferable his life would be inside a closet. He had found himself wishing that it didn't happen and for some reason the girl put his prison down again. He had a look at the room, the furniture was strange, clean and minimalist, there were lots of books and some pictures of landscapes. Maybe this one would turn out to be interesting. He found the perfect spot for him, the top shelf of the library wasn't full and the space left overlooked the whole living room.

Suddenly, Sue found the ideal place for the glass figurine. She had a space on the top shelf that wasn't full of books, this way the sculpture wouldn't be too noticeable, but would still be on display as her grandmother had wanted it to be. She went to the kitchen to pick the stairs and climbed them to put the figurine on its new place.

"Devin, you're going to have some really interesting times." The demon told himself after realizing what he had just done.

2/09/2014

A Story A Day. Story 36 of 365: Rockstar.

Andrew would have never thought that a rockstar's life could be so hard. He had started writing songs as a teenager, as a way to let his feelings out, to get rid of all those dark things nested inside his chest. He only shared his songs with his friends, at first, but they convinced him to play in other places. He started being successful with the girls, and he even made some money out of it. However, he stayed grounded and decided to go to college.

College had been a revelation. He was better at music than he had thought. He also met Jennifer there. She approached him on the campus as he was writing songs under a tree. She sat next to him silently, until Andrew put his guitar aside. They had been inseparable since. Jennifer was there when the agent discovered him, she was also there when he signed his first contract and recorded his first album.

Andrew tried to keep his private life apart from his music career. He didn't want anyone hurting the people he loved. However, the media found out about Jennifer, and their life together became a nightmare. Everywhere the would go, there were dozens of paparazzi waiting for them, some had even been chasing Jennifer around. What had been a peaceful relationship became a constant hide-and-seek game. They would change reservations at the very last minute, drive two different cars every month, but the media always found them.

One night Jennifer rushed into the apartment they shared. She was fuming.

-One day, I will run over one of these scavengers and no tribunal will ever be able to find me guilty!- she said after slamming the door.- Do you know what one of them did today?

Andrew got out from behind the kitchen counter, wiping his hands on a cloth. The whole loft smelt of lasagna, Andrew's speciality due his Italian upbringing.

-What?- he asked knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

-He got inside the office. I still don't know how no one stopped him. The fact is that he walked up straight to Harry's office. You should have seen how mad Harry was. He assured me it was not my fault, but I know that, deep down, he knows he wouldn't have so many problems if I weren't working there.

She sank on a sofa, facing the big windows overlooking the park. Andrew went back to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine for each of them. He, then, took a couple of coasters and put the glasses down the table. Jennifer was now lying on the couch. He sat next to her head and she lifted her head and leaned it on his legs, using him as a pillow, still staring at the world outside the window.

He spoke softly while stroking her hair.

-Maybe we should admit that we're never going to be a normal family. It would be better for you to leave me and lead a happy life away from all this.- he was defeated.

She incorporated abruptly.

-No, I won't leave you! But I had an idea. They want gossip? Let them have it.

She explained her plan to Andrew, who first stared unbelieving to her, but ended up finding sense to all of it. During the following weeks they would allow the paparazzi to take pictures of the two of them together, kissing, cuddling, being in love. One day, however, Jennifer stormed out of the apartment in the middle of the night, for the delight of a very sleepy paparazzo. She then moved to a block of flats that happened to be behind Andrew's recording studio. The buildings had a secret door that connected one with the other, not drawn in any of the blueprints. This allowed Andrew, who used to work at strange times, to lead a double life, a peaceful one with Jennifer, and a fake one where he would supposedly date a different stunning woman each week.

2/08/2014

A Story A Day. Story 35 of 365: Rain.

I stood outside as the rain washed over me. My clothes were dripping wet, clinging on my body, my long hair had long been an extension of the downpour. I felt as if I could still hear my mother telling me to get inside, as she would do when I was a kid and I got outside under the rain. But I was alone on the rooftop, only the city lights keeping me company. It was raining heavily, but there was no electrical storm. It was warm summer rain, yet my whole body shivered.

Few people knew that I would willingly get under the rain. And none would understand. Leo pretended to understand, he even decided to join along once or twice, but for him it only meant getting drenched. To me it was more than that, the rain made me feel a connection with the world, a connection I needed badly. I would try to be outside as soon as I heard the first raindrops, to have the rain kiss my skin, whisper songs in my ear. If people knew that those songs of mine they loved so much had been sung to me by the rain,... They would probably send me to rehab or something, people loved seeing celebrities going to rehab. And, being one of the most talented young pianists of the decade had made me kind of a celebrity.

I heard the rooftop door ope behind me. Leo, I knew, he would be carrying a large towel ad some dry clothes, as he always did when I had been outside under the showers. He had taken care of me from the start, he didn't seem to mind my emotional instability, and that was what made me stable again.

I turned around and saw his silhouette leaning on the lintel. His hands were in his pockets, so he hadn't brought anything. That was weird. He shifted when he saw I was looking at him. And then, he took a step forward, into the pouring rain. Without saying anything he took me by the hand and, together, we walked to the very edge of the rooftop. The streets were empty for that time of the day, the pavement ink black, and, here and there, the umbrellas added a spot of color to the washed out city.

We held hands, still in silence, getting wetter and colder every moment. Even Leo, who always had warm hands, started to feel icy cold. The rain stopped suddenly, as it had started. Leo held me close and kissed me, first on the mouth, then on the forehead. Afterwards, he took my face between his hands and stared at me.

-Promise me something- he said.- Promise me you will always be happy and you will never ever stop going out in the rain. Promise me you will see the world. Promise me you will be independent and you won't let anything hurt you. Promise me you will remember me all your life.

-You are making me scared. Of course, I'll remember you. Are you breaking up with me?

He diverted his gaze and bit his lips as he would when there was something that annoyed him. When he resumed talking he did so looking at the distance.

-I'm not, but we won't be together for long. I went to the doctor today. He told me I only have one week left to live. I'm in pain, in more pain than I have let you see, it is unbearable and it will only get worse. That's why I'm leaving, because I don't want you to see me suffer through it.

-But,...

He shook his head, crying. Without saying anything he made me leave. I was almost at the door when I turned around and ran to his arms once again. I kissed him as if I were never going to kiss anyone ever again. Our tears mixed up.

-I promise I won't ever forget you.

-I will always be there with you.- he squeezed my right hand and kissed it.- Now, leave.

I went back to our, now mine, flat, hardly seeing where I was going. I was fumbling with the keys when I heard the unmistakeable sound of ambulances approaching. I knew what had happened without needing to see it. I leant my forehead against the door.

-Goodbye, Leo.

2/07/2014

A Story A Day. Story 34 of 365: Power.

The first time I met William, I knew he was a powerful man. Not only because I had been told, not only because I was visiting him at his mansion. It was because of the way he looked. Everything, from his grey hair to his suit radiated power. And despite of it, he was dying.

You could not see it at first glance, but I was used to see dying people, working at a hospital, as I would. There were some marks in the corners of his eyes, some shaking of his hands, that showed that his body was tired of living even if his mind was not.

-What is it?- I asked as soon as the introductions were over.

-What is it, what?- he replied, startled.

-What is killing you.

He turned around and walked to the open balcony behind his desk. He had a magnificent view of the blooming garden. He stroked the curtains with his hand.

-You're a bold one, young lady. But you're right. I'm dying. It's my heart, it is weak. But you could help me.

-I'm not a cardiologist...

-I know that.- he interrupted me mid-sentence.- But you're part of the committee responsible for transplants. You can get me a heart.

I looked at him in horror, he was asking me to use my influence for him to live?

-Of course, you'll receive compensation.

I took a deep breath.

-I won't be doing it. You'll get your heart when it's your turn, not before.

He let himself fall on a chair.

-I had expected as much. Well, tell me if you change your mind.

I might have looked at him in a strange way because he swiftly added.

-No, I won't be punishing you, don't worry.

He waved his hand dismissively and I took it as a sign to retire.

The second and last time I saw him he was dying on a hospital bed and he didn't look powerful anymore.

2/06/2014

A Story A Day. Story 33 of 365: Drunk.

Drunk. That was the word. He was drunk. Wasted. Shit-faced. He was particularly sharp taking into account his level of drunkenness. What time was it? Which day was it? How long had he been drinking? There were several empty bottles of beer in front of him, too many actually, how was it possible that he had had so much beer at home? Had he been drinking alone?

He remembered nothing. Hell! He almost didn't remembered what his name was. But he remembered one thing, her. The one thing he had wanted to forget. The reason he had started drinking. And, still, he remembered her as if she were in front of him.

He could see her smile, her soft pink lips curling in a mocking smile. Her dark grey eyes sparkling, her eyelids half-closed, her dark long eyelashes. The pimples on her nose, light brown against her fair skin. Her black hair, long, curly and silky, as it used to be. She knew he couldn't forget her. He missed her so much that he was hallucinating. He raised his hand, stretching, hoping to be able to touch her, finding only empty air. After opening yet another beer, he chugged it down. Maybe he was not drunk enough.

Next thing he knew, he was lying uncomfortably on the couch and the beer-cementery had reached considerable proportions. The sunshine hurt his eyes and made him want to retch. He crawled to the bathroom and puked in the toilet, it reeked of vomit already, so at some point of the night he had paid a visit to it. When he was done he lay his head on the cold floor, hoping it would calm down the terrible hangover he had inflicted to himself. However, no cold floor could calm its heartache.

Lying in the floor he heard the front door opening. After that some rushed footsteps approached him, and a pair of warm hands checked his vital signs. He woke up shortly after, as soon as the warm water started pouring over his head. He was lying in the bathtub completely naked. The deft hands of the nurse were washing him. He saw that all his bandages were off, and the ugly cuts showed everywhere.

The nurse had short blond hair, she must have been around forty, but had a matronly air over her. She bathed him silently, and when she was done and he was dry, she bandaged his wounds back. Only when she brought him breakfast she did talk.

-Were you trying to kill yourself, kid?

He denied with his head, his mouth full of toasted bread.

-So what?

He swallowed.

-I was trying to forget. To forget her, to forget that I killed her.

Why am I a writer?

First of all, I had second thought about the title of this post, I mean, am I a writer? I reached the conclusion that I am, even if people make fun of you when you say you're one. So the next question is, with so many easy things to be in the world, why would you choose to be a writer? The answer is more complicated than it might seem.

First, for the delight of all those who know me, I'm a very versatile person. So, I'm a scientist who writes, or a writer who does science. Or basically someone who is so eager to die of starvation that choose two vocational careers that hardly ever land you any money (well big money). Also, I choose the two vocational careers more likely to drive me crazy. So I guess that I did it for craziness.

Secondly, I did it to avoid craziness. Yes, I know I just said the contrary. But everything has a reason. I've realized that if I don't write I get really really moody. If you've been reading my last stories you might have seen that they are quite... dark. Funny thing is that because of me writing those stories, my life is bright and easy. Writing decreases the burden of stress in my life.

Third, and last, I have no choice. It's not like someone is pushing me, but more like the stories spring in my brain and I need to release them by putting them on paper. That is how it all started, by me getting sentences inside my head that ended up developing in stories. For some time I thought that this only happened when I was in love, but I've finally realized that I just need to exercise my brain a bit and the stories appear out of thin air.

Now, I need the final step of it all, publish my novel, to share what I have written, and for personal recognition too. I mean, there is nothing wrong on wanting people to acknowledge your work, after all you suffered through it.

So, fellow writers, why are you writers?